


HE SAYS IT LIKE IT IS

by AgnesClementine



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Child Abuse, First Meetings, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Ignore the title, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lewis Snart - Freeform, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Young Leonard Snart, Young Lisa Snart, Young Mick Rory, please, this doesn't make sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:35:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 32,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: I'm crappy at summaries, so I'll just say that this is the 'first meeting' fic where Mick (of course) gets into a fight and is left slightly puzzled by Len.I might add more chapters later. Who knows.





	1. Juvie

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a thing. I might make it a Thing later if you guys want more chapters. The idea is to write snippets from their life before The Flash aired and I was thinking about focusing more on their earlier years.
> 
> Well, for now, enjoy!

Mick remembers the first time he saw Len.

It's morning and he's sixteen and he can still hear the fire in late hours of the night, beckoning him in. He can remember its warmth better than he remembers his mother's smile.

So it's morning. The weather is nice, so the guards send everyone in the yard and Mick thinks it's going to be an easy day. The kids know better than to try to engage him in any of their activities, so he's alone when the lady- the one that talked to him and showed him to his room when he arrived- crosses the yard with another person in tow.

The new kid is- well, he's tiny. Mick gives him a quick glance, thinks, _he's not gonna last a week here_ , and goes back to thumbing the lighter in his jacket's pocket. Mick is taller and bigger than anyone here, so the resident bullies don't mess with him, but the new kid? Mick is pretty sure he's too young to be left home alone, even less be in here. He entertains himself with ideas and theories of what might get him sent here, but doesn't really dwell on the kid.

He spends the lunchtime in psychologist's office- it's mandatory, a part of his sentence and he suffers through it- so he's not exactly sure why the atmosphere in the yard is tense enough you could slice it with a knife when he gets out. That is until one of the kids roars and the tension snaps like a string.

Mick's been here long enough to know what a beating here looks like and he lazily inches closer to the crowd that gathered next to one of the entrances to the building. Kids can be brutal and he wants to see what poor bastard got targeted this time.

He can just see, over tops of numerous heads, a group of few boys kicking someone on the floor. He grinds his jaw because _it's not even a fair fight, fucking cowards_. The kid with a ridiculous mullet is the leader, Mick is pretty sure; he's standing aside and watching with this ugly smirk on his face and Mick saw him deal out more than one beating and he never got in trouble for it, so Mick also thinks he's stinking rich.

What's weird in this scene, though, is that there's no sound. The boys doing the kicking are huffing from the strain, but the kid on the floor doesn't make a peep and it's got Mullet going a bit red in the face. Mick suspects the kid passed out from the pain, but then there's a wet cough and a whisper of something Mick can't catch, but the Mullet surely can.

He turns red as a tomato, shaking with rage and- possibly- embarrassment. He lurches forward and his group of lap dogs parts, so he can haul the kid on his feet and slam him against the wall and- Mick blinks at the new kid who is too busy staring blankly at the Mullet and bleeding to notice Mick.

“You little piece of shit,” Mullet says, foaming and driving his fist in kid’s face- Mick can see and hear it catching him in the cheekbone-, “you’re gonna look like a Frankenstein once I’m done with you!”

Mick bites back a groan and barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes. _Way to ruin a classic, fuckface_.

“Any last fucking words?” Mullet grits out and the kid raises his hand just before he punches him in the stomach.

He lifts his head and there’s a glint in his eyes that- that may make Mick’s blood thrum with anticipation.

“That threat might be intimidating if you knew that the Frankenstein is the doctor. _Pretty_ sure you were referring to the monster. Which, by the way, you’d need at least three more people to make _that_ work. If you’re gonna talk trash at me, check your facts beforehand.”

Holy fuck, Mick didn’t think so much sass could come out of someone so tiny, but _shit_. The kid also says it with the flattest tone possible, while still perfectly conveying ‘ _you’re a fucking waste of air_ ’ message and ending it with a note sharp like a goddamned scalpel. _It’s a work of art_.

Mullet fumes, splutters- and then pulls a shiv out of his pocket.

“Fucking hold him.” He instructs, hand flexing around the handle of his makeshift knife.

Two boys- from his group, of course- hold the kid upright even as the majority of watchers starts to protest. Mick expects panic, trashing, screaming, but the kid only gives Mullet a cold, uninterested look and says, deadpan, “Wow, this took such a _sharp_ turn.”

And _Goddamnit_ , despite the loud objections, nobody’s doing shit to stop this, so Mick pushes through the crowd, ignoring various yelps as he shoulders past the throng of no- good teenagers.

Mullet is about to stab the mouthy kid, but Mick pulls him back and tosses the shiv somewhere on the concrete ground. Mullet obviously isn’t aware who interrupted him, so he swings his fist without even looking at Mick. It catches him on the shoulder, but it doesn’t even hurt. It’s just sad, really.

But the fucker threw the first punch and Mick is _definitely_ compelled to strike back. It’s satisfying, it really is when Mullet’s nose audibly crunches and he falls flat on his ass- but then, of course, his ‘friends’ leap to his rescue and it turns into a brawl ( _Mick doesn’t even feel most of the punches, those brats are pathetic_ ).

He wonders what would his shrink think if he suggested this as an anger management method because it’s working like a charm.

He puts the last kid on his ass- and then gets tackled.

The crowd disperses immediately, and Mick finds out that the new kid is staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face, from where they’re both now laying on the ground.

“Of course guards decide to show up _now_.” He grouches to the kid because he wasn’t saying anything and just kept staring at Mick.

Kid snorts, “Yes, American correctional system is really working like a well- oiled machine.”

Mick snorts right back, then grins and catches a glimpse of a smirk just before the guards drag him away.

  * ●●●●



The situation,  miraculously, gets resolved with no time added to him- he doesn’t even get extra appointments with his shrink. Nothing. They take away his lighter, though. He’s pretty sure one of the guards lifted it while he was getting tackled, so that sucks. And he gets reassured that Mr. Rowling- that’s apparently Mullet- is going to be punished appropriately- which Mick highly doubts, but yeah, _sure_.

But now that the adrenaline has worn off and he can feel the sting and throb in his knuckles, he’s really pissed off because of the lighter. He’s untying his shoes in his room, ready to turn in early; it’s not like they’ll let him eat dinner with others after the fight. But then his door opens and the new kid slips inside in a blink.

Mick is staring at him, sitting on his bed and still hunched over his left foot. Because: _what the fuck?_ He wasn’t expecting the kid to look at him twice when they’re both back in the yard, even less so to have him show up in his room.

And how the kid came in is beyond him. The door locks automatically and how does he know what room is Mick’s? More importantly, how did he walk here? He’s covered in bruises from head to foot and he has at least few cracked ribs, if not broken, from the kicking.

“What? You never saw a bruise before?” Kid snaps with a scowl, arms in his pants’ pockets.

Mick, taken aback by the bite in his tone and still miffed by the whole appearance, shakes his head.

“No, I thought they’d keep you resting for a few more days.” He explains, then adds, “You look like crap.”

Kid snorts, mutters, “You’ve seen nothing yet,” and then suddenly throws something at Mick.

Mick catches it and takes a double-take at the familiar texture in his hand. He gives the kid a puzzled look, glances at the lighter- _his_ lighter- in his palm, then looks back at the kid.

“The guard that tackled you took it and then stayed behind to take me to the nurse’s.” The kid says with a shrug like it explains everything.

“So you stole it from him?”                                             

“Yep.”

_Huh._ “Thanks. But seriously, shouldn’t you be resting and, I don’t know, watching cartoons?”

Kid narrows his eyes at him then, “How old do you think I am?”

Mick squints at him, “Dunno, 10?”

Kid makes an offended noise. “10? You need glasses, I’m 14.”

Mick raises his eyebrows in surprise. “14? You’re really tiny.”

If kid looked offended before, Mick doesn’t know how to describe this. He scowls, crossing his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall.

“I’m not tiny.”

“Buddy, your upper arm is the size of my wrist,” Mick informs him.

He scrunches up his nose at that, arms uncrossing so he can rub at his own, gauze wrapped wrist. “Whatever.” He says, then, “Why’d you do it?”

“Huh?”

“Why’d you step in? I had it under control.” Kid explains.

Mick doubts it, but suspects that pointing out that he was about to get stabbed wouldn’t get him anywhere. “Everyone who doesn’t know that Frankenstein is the doctor deserves to get punched in the face.” He says instead.

Kid regards him for a quiet moment and then, apparently satisfied with his conclusion, smirks. It’s nothing like Mullet’s ugly sneer, if anything, it’s a little bit charming. Maybe even friendly.

“I’m Len.” He says.

“Mick.” He responds automatically, although he wants to ask what Len stands for.

Len smirks again, though it could be a grin- it’s really hard to tell- and then just as suddenly as he arrived, he leaves.

It’s the weirdest interaction Mick had with anyone here, but also kind of the best one.


	2. Juvie pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is a total mess, but the school is starting tomorrow so I wanted to post this before I'm too busy. 
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

Len stands for Leonard, Mick finds out few days after his visit when he’s eating his breakfast and Len plops down next to him.

Mick paused with a fork halfway to his mouth, wondering where the hell the kid came from. Len threw him a casual “Morning,” and proceeded to remove anything remotely healthy from his tray.

It’s strange; Mick thought that the kid was just being nice, considering Mick sort of saved his life, and that he’ll just go about his business once he’s not confined to his bed, but it seems that that isn’t the case. Briefly, Mick wonders if the kid thinks he owes him for that.

“You know you don’t owe me, right?” He asks because he’d rather not have someone following him around like a puppy if he could help it.

Len pauses, his fork also raised like Mick’s when Len sat down and gives Mick a ‘Duh’ expression. “I know. I had it handled, you didn’t have to jump in.”

Mick still thinks that Len’s definition of ‘having something handled’ needs a lot of improvements, but doesn’t say so.

“Huh,” he says instead, “Alright,” and resumes eating.

  * ●●●●



He’s sitting on one of the benches in the yard after the dinner that day when Len shows up again. The kid was with him during the lunch and dinner, but Mick doesn’t know what he was doing in his spare time between the two.

He sees Mullet- or Rowling, or whatever- over Len’s shoulder (well, Len’s head, actually- no matter what he says, he is tiny) and thinks what are the possibilities of anyone telling Len that the guy who almost stabbed him didn’t get anything more than a slap on the wrist. He thinks it’s his right to know.

Len turns to see what’s Mick looking at.

“They ain’t gonna punish him.” Mick tells him. “He’s rich or something.”

Len faces him again, unperturbed. “I know.”

“Oh, okay.”

“’s why I started the fight.” Len informs him casually.

“What.”

Len arches an eyebrow at him. “I had to somehow get close enough to lift his money.”

Mick… doesn’t know how to react.

“You almost died because of few bucks?” He asks and hopes Len can tell by his tone how insane that is. Okay, Mick might be a bit of a hypocrite because he’d absolutely start a fight anytime, but Mick’s also almost two times Len’s size and much taller and he can hold his own in a fight without a problem. Len is… fragile. Delicate in a way that is not synonymous with weak, but in a ‘if I squeeze too hard, I’ll break something’ way. His mind flashes to how, even with all the kicking and punching, Len didn’t let out a sound, determined to not give those assholes what they want and knows that Len is anything but weak.

Len rolls his eyes at him. He does that a lot; not at Mick, but generally. Mick suspects it’s his ‘go to’ reaction for everything.

“I only got few bruises. Besides, it wasn’t just ‘few bucks’.” He says and, apparently deciding to ditch this topic, pulls out a pack of cards.

“You know how to play cards, right?” He asks. Mick, in fact, does not.

Len rolls his eyes again when he tells him as much.

“Of course.” He sighs, “Alright, looks like I’m teaching you to play cards today.”

And that’s how Mick ends up learning how to cheat at poker from a 14-year-old kid. Unbelievable.

  * ●●●●



Len likes to chat. Well, he likes to talk, it doesn’t matter if he gets a response. Although his eyes light up a bit whenever Mick says something in response to his jabbering. Even when it’s, “Shut up.”

But Len likes to talk and speak and be dramatic ( _so dramatic_ ) and it’s not something Mick expected to like. _Ever_. He doesn’t mind being alone, can make great company for himself, but he found that with Len everything is quieter. Which shouldn’t make any sense, but it does.

He’s laying on his bed, zoning out as he watches Len droning on about something. He’s sitting at the foot of Mick’s bed, back pressed to the wall and his feet stretched in front of him. He’s rolling a coin over his knuckles; he was delighted when Mick told him he can do it with matches and showed up the next day with a pack of matches, demanding Mick to show him.

Len gets delighted by the strangest things, Mick found out. It’s all about bad puns and drama, though. A few days back, some kid found two guards groping each other in the utility closet of all things and when the news got around, Len lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

Mick wonders (he’s doing a lot of that since he met Len) what his mom might think about him. What his sisters might think about him (he knows Nora would love him, they’re even the same age) and a pang of grief twists his insides. He rolls to his side, ignores it. It will go away. It always goes away.

Len shifts his legs to accommodate Mick’s new position and the light hits his face- which is the cheesiest of all things that happened to Mick in his life. But the rays highlight the freckles dusting Len’s cheeks and nose and, honest to God, make his eyes sparkle.

“Who’d you get the freckles from?” He finds himself asking.

Len looks at him, looking surprised and cutting off his ranting. “What?”

“Freckles. Who’d you get them from?” He repeats.

“Oh,” Len says, then frowns, “mom, I think.”

“You think?”

Len looks at his hands, running his fingertips over the ridges on the coin. He shrugs. “She took off when I was like five.”

Mick winces internally. _Nice job, Mick_. “That sucks.”

“Anyway, why are you asking?” Len asks and, _damn it, it’s only fair_.

“My youngest sister had ‘em.” He explains. The guilt twists a little harder and he swallows.

Len is watching him. “Sorry for asking.” He says. He sounds sincere, something that Mick learned is a rare occurrence.

“Why?” Mick frowns.

“It sucks talking about people that are gone.” Len says simply and Mick freezes. _Len knows_.

Len told him about the ‘diamond theft’ that landed him here- Mick is still not sure if he believes the diamond part- and he never asked about Mick. Mick didn’t offer either because how do you tell the only person you’re willingly talking to and hanging around with after months of being alone that you killed your own family? That you watched your home burn to the ground and didn’t do anything?

“How do you know?” Mick asks quietly.

Len shrugs, “How do you think I got your room number?” _Their records_.

“Oh. You’re not… freaked out?”

“No,” Len says without missing a beat.

“Scared?” Mick tries because he can’t be this lucky.

Len laughs. Of all things.

“There’s only one thing I’m scared of and it’s not you, Mick.” Len tells him, all the way looking him in the eyes and Mick can tell it’s true. No fear in those blue- silver eyes. Something warm, though, tentative. A growing friendship.


	3. Judge, Jury And Executioner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, this is really messy, especially the end, so forgive me for that. Also, please note that I'm not a therapist and nothing in this chapter has a grain of healthy ways to deal with mental trauma. Like, not a bit.
> 
> WARNING: self-harm is a big part of this chapter, there's no graphic description of the act itself, but it's close
> 
> Uhh, comment and enjoy?

There’s a power shortage about a month later. The wind that’s still howling outside knocked down one of the electricity poles (or however they’re called) that morning and they haven’t been able to turn on the backup generator. Mick suspects that’s because this whole building complex is older than Mick’s grandfather.

The weather’s surprisingly cold, but Mick’s sweating under two layers of juvie issued shirts. He’s taking them both off, chucking the t-shirt in general direction of the laundry basket, when the door to his room opens.

He’s gotten used to this; Len has a habit of entering any room without knocking and Mick doesn’t as much as blink anymore. This time, though, he freezes, standing in a candlelit room with a shirt dangling from his hand because Len’s aiming a flashlight at him and Mick knows exactly what he sees.

The scars running up his arms, curling around his shoulders as a proof of his guilt. Len knows what he is and what he did, but half of the time Mick wonders if he only imagined that conversation taking place in this very room. A part of his brain wonders if Len will realize what kind of person Mick really is when evidence stands in front of him. If the meaning of words on Mick’s record will truly sink in. If Len will turn around and finally run away.

“That looks like it hurt.” Len comments, expression neutral (which is pretty much a default setting for him) and closing the door as he steps into the room fully. He’s wearing a long sleeved shirt, but his circulation is shit and Mick doesn’t doubt that he’s freezing.

_It did_. Mick hated it, but he deserved it.

Mick grunts, “Yeah.” He says, then notices pale, silvery lines in Len’s forearms when he sets the flashlight on the table and rolls up his sleeves.

“Where’d you get that?” He asks in turn. It’s sort of unspoken rule; if one asks a personal question, the other gets to ask one too if he answers.

Len extends his arms in front of himself and wriggles his fingers. “This? Oh, in a fight for my life.” He says in that drama filled tone that sometimes makes it really hard for Mick to determine if he’s joking or not. He’s pretty sure Len figured it out and that’s why he’s using it on Mick.

“Right. You’re gonna get hypothermia, put something on.” Mick says, pulls his own shirt over his head.

“Says he, while shirtless.” Len intones, plopping down on Mick’s bed.

Mick snorts, tugs at the bottom of his shirt and sends a ray of light from the flashlight in Len’s face.

  * ●●●●



The storm is still going at it when Mick wakes up the next morning, breathing ragged and the rain pelting on his window mixing with the crackling of fire from his dream. His stomach is rolling and he buries his face in his hands, counting to ten.

He scrambles for his lighter, the metal of it icy cold in contrast to his heated skin, and grips it in his hand until his knuckles turn white. He feels like crying, his heart stuttering in his chest in sick anticipation of what’s to come and _he wants to cry_.

He rolls up his sleeve, the freshly healed burns pale in the morning light. The sigh he lets out is like a bomb going off in the quiet of his room. _You deserve this_.

He flicks the lighter on.

  * ●●●●



Len is sitting at the lone table by the windows in the cafeteria when Mick spots him. They eat most of their breakfast in silence, the rain making everyone sleepy and washing over the cafeteria instead of usual chattering. Mick’s arm burns and itches; he wants to scratch at it until it bleeds.

At one point, he notices Len watching him. His arm, actually.

There’s a thin line of bandages around his wrist peeking out from under his sleeve. He messed up and put the flame too close to his wrist. He tugs at the sleeve, meeting Len’s eyes when he looks up.

He observes Mick for a quiet second, narrows his eyes at him and then goes back at picking at his food.

  * ●●●●



Mick doesn’t even look up from the bed when his door opens, but as the seconds tick by and there’s still no sound aside from the rain and wind outside, he raises his eyes to glance at Len.

Len who is standing by the door, pressing the thumb of his right hand in the flesh of his left one and looking nervous. Mick never saw him like that and he can’t believe how uncomfortable it makes him feel.

“Spit it out.” He says because it’s obvious Len wants to say something.

Len seems to be contemplating fleeing and Mick absently rubs his wrist on the edge of his bed while he waits him out. Apparently, Len decides against.

“The scars are from that?” Len asks and Mick would like to play dumb, but he’s caught unprepared and doesn’t have time to scramble for a lie.

He stares at the ceiling in stunned silence.

“Mick.”

Mick looks at him again and can’t read the expression on Len’s face. He suddenly feels defensive, even though he rationally knows Len’s not anything but a friend and worried.

“Yeah. So?” He asks back sharply. Len narrows his eyes, his mask cracking.

“’So?’ So stop.” Len says, makes it sound so easy because he doesn’t get it.

Mick scoffs. “No.”

“No?”

Mick sits up, “No.”

“Why the hell not?” Len makes it sound like he has some right to know.

“Because it’s none of your business.” Mick bites out.

Len’s face scrunches up in a scowl, just for a second though, before smoothing out. “It wasn’t your fault.” He says calmly and it pisses Mick off.

He jumps to his feet, Len crosses his arms over his chest, scowls again and drops them by his sides.

“Yeah? What the hell do you know about that?”He asks angrily.

Len leaves the scowl on this time, “Oh, right, because you’re only one that suffers. _Poor Mick_.”

Mick takes a step back, feeling like he just got slapped. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, because the alternative is far bloodier than he likes.

Len stops him though, his words cold and sharp. “Don’t bother, I’ll let myself out.”

Then he turns on his heel and leaves.

Mick cools down just as the door closes, not the one to hold grudges, so the only thing that stays is Len’s words, hanging in the air.

Mick’s not alone with them for long though, because his door flies open again and Len’s back. The door closes sharply behind him and he looks possibly angrier than he has a right to be.

“You know what? Fuck you, Mick.” He says coolly.

Mick looks at him, speechless. The hell’s he cursing him for?

“You- ugh, I can’t explain to you-“ Len tries few more times, winding himself up more and more and cutting himself off every time. Mick sits, quiet because he’s owed an apology and he suspects that Len is aware of that too.

Len turns his back to him, sighing heavily and Mick thinks his apology is just about there, but then Len’s shoulders shake briefly, a sound like a laugh escaping him and Mick glares at him.

He turns again, ignoring Mick’s death glare and- oh, the mentioned death glare is nothing compared to Len’s expression.

“I don’t get you, okay? So, I’ll just go ahead and say what I think is going around in your head.” Len starts and he’s pretty calm about it too, but Mick can _feel_ how angry he is.

“The fire’s nice, right? It’s warm and strong and it can destroy everything in a blink. You’d like to see it do it, too, but when you do, it doesn’t turn out quite the way you’d like. And now you’re here and you’re feeling guilty and you think you deserve it. _Look at me! I’m a monster!_ Right, Mick?”

God, Mick didn’t think words could feel like this, but Len is flinging them at him like throwing knives.

“You think you need some kind of proof that you’re suffering? That it doesn’t count otherwise?”

_Yes._

“You think you killed your family and now you’re supposed to burn too, don’t you, _Mick_?”

Len lied. He gets Mick, he gets it all.

“Well, you’re guilty.”

The floor drop from underneath his feet. “What?”

“You heard. You’re guilty. That’s what you want? Because everything that the shrink’s been telling you is bullshit and you’re a murderer?”

“Stop.”

“What? Isn’t that what you’ve been dying to hear? That it’s your fault that everyone’s dead?”

“Len.” Mick pleads.

“You’re guilty,” Len speaks over him and scowls, “Maybe you could’ve saved them, maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you’d be dead as well. But you’re alive, they’re dead. You’re allowed to feel sad and angry and guilty, but not like this.”

He points a hand at him, “Not like that.”

And then he starts taking off his shirt.

“Len?”

“What do I know about this?” Len asks, throws his shirt on the bed and faces Mick. Mick can’t breathe.

“I understand that it might look like a solution now, but it’s a temporary fix, like a shitty band-aid. And what do I care? Well, since you asked _so nicely_ , you’re my friend. Only one, in fact.” He shrugs, but it’s a jerky motion that makes the bones in his shoulders more prominent and, fuck, it’s one thing knowing Len’s skinny as a twig and completely different being able to count his ribs from where he stands. Ribs and scars. On his forearms, shoulders, torso. Len’s like a canvas brutally slashed and stitched back together.

_There’s only one thing I’m scared of and it’s not you, Mick_ , Len said a while back.

Mick wants to say something, but he only ends up staring at Len’s eyes.

Len clenches his jaw, “If I could get rid of these I would do it in an instant. That’s why I can’t stand you doing this.”

He puts his shirt back on, hurriedly pulling it on with motions that lack their usual grace.

He’s almost out the door when he stops again.

“I’ve met real monsters and, trust me, you’re not one of them.” He says, all the bite gone out of his voice, “Let me know when you pull your head out of your ass.” He adds bitterly over his shoulder and leaves.

Mick stands in the middle of his room, simultaneously feeling a hundred pounds lighter and like the biggest jackass in the world.


	4. Matching Puzzle Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so few things even though I'm not even sure if anyone's reading the notes.  
> First, since school started and I'm pretty much not home the whole day, the chapters will be posted on Saturday evenings or sometime during the Sundays. Maybe- and that's a big, fat maybe- on Monday afternoons. I'll try to keep some sort of a schedule and update regularly, but I'm still not sure how much free time I'll have for writing. :/  
> And second, what do you guys think are the chances of a traveling circus taking me in once I flunk my classes and drop out?
> 
> Anyway, this is a bit schmoopy (I think), so enjoy and comment. :)

Mick doesn’t see Len the next day. Or the day after that. On the third morning, eating breakfast on his own, he catches on. Len is not giving him space- _he’s avoiding him_.

And the little bastard is good at it too, just _conveniently_ being busy with something else or slipping away unnoticed until Mick realizes that he’s not in the room anymore. Mick would see him across the yard and then someone would walk in front of him and he’d lose sight of him. It’s as frustrating as it’s impressive. It makes him wonder why Len had gotten so good at it and that in turn makes him lose his appetite.

Apparently, while Mick doesn’t know how to stay mad for long, Len is so good at it that, if staying pissed was an Olympic sport, he’d win gold. And the fact that Mick _wants_ to apologize is making things even worse. He gets that Len cares; he could spend time with anyone here, but he chose Mick even though he’s got “shit poker face”. And he cares too, which is not something he’d done in a while. He doesn’t want to go back to being alone with his thoughts.

The worst, though, is that Mick wakes up shaking, immediately reaches for his lighter- and suddenly remembers the look in Len’s eyes while he stood there shirtless. It’s not that Len’s not attractive- which sounds so awful and makes Mick feel like a creep considering he’s 14 and at first looks 12- and Mick knows he’s one of those kids that are tiny and skinny for most of their childhood, then turn gangly and lanky and end up tall and lean. And his scars are not some hideous monstrosities, but the look in his eyes said they might as well be a missing limb; something he’s lost and will never get back.

So he shoves his lighter underneath his pillow and takes a cold shower. When the last remains of his nightmare fade away, the feeling of regret washes over him. It’s not even regret; more like shame.

Mick doesn’t tend to think about his family- in fact, he tries to avoid it as much as possible. It feels like just a piece of him is left, like everything else turned into smoke and ashes along with his parents, siblings and relatives. But he’s still not so far gone that he can’t fathom what his mom would think about this, how sad she would be if she could see him.

He trudges out of his room with heavy steps, anxiously twirling his lighter in his pants’ pocket.

Len’s room is unfamiliar territory for him, but he finds the room easily enough. He raps his knuckles on the door twice and frowns when there’s a thud from the inside before he opens the door. Len is sprawled on the floor, leaning up on his elbows and trying for casual.

Mick gives him a long look from the threshold. “Did you fall?” He asks carefully; he really doesn’t need Len being any more mad at him.

Len sniffs, the flat expression on his face, but the pink rising on his cheeks and ears betrays the lie when he says, “No.”

Mick wants to tease him, ask “Are you sure?” and pretend like they haven’t had the worst- although the briefest- argument Mick can remember having with anyone. But Len still has that icy mask on, observing Mick with doubtful eyes.

“Can I come in?” Mick asks.

Len nods mutely, watching as Mick shuffles inside and closes the door behind him.

“What do you want?” He questions Mick.

_Alright._

“Apologize.” He pushes out. He hates apologizing, always tried to get out of it whenever he could, but he _likes_ Len. He can stand Len and that says a lot.

“Oh,” Len says and Mick realizes he’s been tense when his posture relaxes and he scoots against his bed, sagging in his new position. “And?”

He won’t let Mick off the hook. Naturally.

Mick sighs, sits on the floor as well and stretches his legs in front of himself. “I was kind of a jerk.” His shoulder is almost touching Len’s, but he figures it would be weird to put more space between them when he’s already settled.

Len gives him a pointed look.

“Fine, I was a jerk. Complete jerk. And I’m sorry.” He succumbs.

He swallows a lump in his throat, his palms sweating because half of him is screaming that this is a terrible idea. “You were right,” he adds and presents Len with his lighter, holding it out to him. Len’s eyes widen a fraction, fleeting between Mick’s face and the lighter. He swallows again, lets out a breath, “I think you should have this. For now.”

He wants to take the lighter back as soon as he places it on Len’s open palm, hold it in his hand and trace its familiar curves with his fingers, but this is better. Smarter. Safer.

Len curls his fingers around it, nods. “Okay,” he says quietly, “I’ll hold on to this for you.”

It strangely makes Mick feel better.

They sit in silence for a moment, until Len speaks again.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, squirming uncomfortably and looking down at the lighter in his hands, “what I said-“

“Is what I needed to hear.” Mick interrupts him.

Len looks up sharply, “I shouldn’t have said that. I know I can be mean, but that was out of line.” He says firmly.

Mick shakes his head to stop him from what was about to turn into a rant, “I can handle mean, Len.” He gives a quick, crooked grin, “If my shrink was more like you maybe we’d be getting somewhere,” he shrugs, “Besides, all you said was true and it worked. I guess I just needed a kick in the balls. _Metaphorical_.” He specifies because he doesn’t doubt Len would see the loophole and use it.

Len still looks like he’s moments away from giving himself a lecture, so Mick (because he’s an awkward dumbass) grins at him and says, “You’re my friend too. _Only one, in fact._ ”

It works. Len snorts, unfolds his legs and knocks his foot against Mick’s. He’s unsuccessfully fighting a grin of his own and Mick wonders if maybe that piece of him that’s left would fit with Len’s own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if anyone wants to talk or has some questions, you're welcome to email me and I'll try to get back to you as soon as possible. :)


	5. A Look Into Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh, this is a bit late and not much happens, but. Here it is. 
> 
> Comment and enjoy!

Things get a bit lumpy. Mick itches and aches and craves and sometimes the only thing that clears his mind is Len being ‘mean’. And then he gets frustrated and tired and sick and frayed around the edges and Len sits him down on their bench in the yard.

“Is it the fire thing or the other thing?” He asks directly. Or mostly directly; they’re taking baby steps.

Mick… Mick mulls it over. He’s restless and- he can’t say bored because Len’s always got something to talk about, but he feels like there’s a chunk of his time missing. A chunk of time that was for him and fire. He supposes his behavior lately was mostly due to the lack of flames.

“Uh, fire thing.”

“Hm,” Len hums, drumming his fingers on the bench. It’s sunny today, but Mick thinks it might rain over the night. “And the other thing? It’s only the lighter?”

“Yeah.”

It doesn’t work with matches, too clumsy for handling, and the lighter was his father’s. Suppose it’s some kind of sick sentimentality. A sort of poetic justice or whatever.

Len nods and leaves.

He’s back after the dinner. He slips into Mick’s room and plops down on his usual spot on Mick’s bed. He sets a pack of matches on the mattress between them.

At Mick’s questioning look, he shrugs. “They work for fire, but not the other thing.” He says it like it’s no big deal and Mick almost chokes with the amount of trust in Len’s eyes.

He takes the pack in his hands, opens it, lights a match. He watches the flames dancing just above his fingertips and settles.

  * ●●●●



They don’t talk about Len’s scars. Or Len generally. Not that they talk about Mick either, just what the other is willing to share and even then it’s all vague and general. It suits them both because Len likes his privacy and Mick’s had it enough with people insisting on taking a peek into his head. So Len doesn’t offer, Mick doesn’t pry and they don’t talk about it.

Saturday morning, Len gets a visit. They were outside again, trudging through wet grass and damp soil when one of the guards informed Len that he’s got a visitor. Len had straightened and followed him back in the main building.

He doesn’t go back outside nor does he stop by Mick’s room later, so Mick makes his way to his room. He knocks and enters to find Len sitting cross-legged on his bed and shuffling a deck of cards in his hands. His fingers shake slightly; Mick notices only because he watched Len shuffle and deal out the cards numerous times and he knows the easy, quick slide that’s missing now.

He drops down on the other side of the bed, toes off his shoes, so he can mimic his position.

Len glances at him in acknowledgment, but bends his head again to keep looking at his hands. He doesn’t say a word.

Mick doesn’t pry even though it’s eating at him. Instead he watches; Len’s hair is a mop of black curls, just long enough to stick out and fall over his forehead when he dips his head down like this and it makes him look even more like a little kid. It’s in stark contrast with his light skin tone.

“My dad visited.” Len says after a stretch of silence, still not looking up.

“Oh.” Mick responds, not sure what the appropriate reaction would be. They haven’t said much about their families; since Len read his records, Mick assumes he knows how many siblings he has and such things, so he never asks. All Mick knows about Len’s family is that his mom bailed when he was a kid and that he has a baby sister (so he assumes his dad remarried at some point).

Len doesn’t offer more, instead squirms a bit. The movement drives the sleeve of his shirt upwards and reveals a smudge of red, irritated skin. Mick thinks briefly it looks like a really bad Indian burn, but sobers up within seconds.

He reaches out without a thought, taking a hold of Len’s forearm and pulling towards himself to take a closer look. Len stills, muscles tensing under Mick’s palm. He sets the cards on the bed and glues his eyes on Mick’s hand. And Mick thinks, _oh_.

“He did this?” He asks, lets his grip on Len go slack; he can pull his arm back whenever he wants.

Len doesn’t respond, doesn’t even react. He’s not looking at Mick, lower, still at his hand, but his look’s not vacant; it’s… it’s more like the lights are on in the house, but Len drew the curtains on, so Mick can’t see anything but his silhouette. He knows Len’s there, but he can see fuck all besides that.

His mind flashes to Len’s scars, something inside him flashing hot and angry. His own dad was not shy to deal out a smack or two; Mick doesn’t say it was the right thing to do, but it happened only when he or his siblings were caught doing something they’re not supposed to do. Though that? Nobody should be capable to hurt their own kid like that.

He doesn’t know what to say, at loss of words because he sucks at this kind of things, so he carefully turns Len arm palm up. The underside of his wrist is colored with red dots where fingers have dug in hard enough to bruise and Mick gently runs his thumb over the area few times in something he hopes registers as comfort. Len’s breathing hitches as he squirms again, just barely audible because the room is otherwise silent, and his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t pull back.

“Hey, Len?” He asks tentatively.

This time, Len responds with a hum, flicking his eyes up for a second.

“Wanna play Black Jack? I bet I can beat you now.” Mick taunts, grinning playfully.

Len’s lips twitch into a smirk and he pulls his arm back. “That’s a sucker's bet and you know it,” he drawls and starts shuffling the cards.

  * ●●●●



Len’s dad doesn’t visit again and things get easier. Len still talks, but he also asks and offers up bits and pieces of information in passing. He slips his dislike for remakes during their movie discussion and horrifies Mick a bit because he never heard of The Ramones. Apparently, in his defense, he’s not too big on music.

Mick can give him a pass, but he’s gonna have to catch him up on so much when they get out of here. He doesn’t know when he started planning his future with Len, but honestly, getting out of here and continuing with his life without Len’s bad puns and dramatic eye rolls seems bleak and not worth it.

His shrink gives him a curious look when he slips and blurts out a ‘we’ when she asks about his plans, but Mick firmly resolves that that’s none of her business, doesn’t offer an explanation and gets out to meet Len in the yard.


	6. Disappearance Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, this is pretty short and not very interesting, but I'm barely keeping my eyes open. The next chapter is supposed to be more interesting, I'll see about writing and posting it tomorrow, but I'm not making any promises. Sorry!
> 
> Anyway, comment and enjoy!

Mick’s sentence is two years. He was six months into it when Len arrived. He’s got a year more to go when Len turns 15 and disappears.

It was about a week after Len’s birthday and they both knew that Len was about to get out in a few weeks. They had dinner as usual and then Len lounged out in his room until the lights out, neither of them knowing that that’s the last time they’ll see each other because Len gets released the next morning.

And Mick has no delusions; Len has absolutely no obligation to him or reason why he’d come back. He’s still got Mick’s lighter, but Mick knows better than to think Len’ll come here just to give it to him.

So he counts down the days, goes to his appointments and stays under the radar. He doesn’t need to have his sentence prolonged because some punks wanted to have their asses kicked. It’s a boring, stale routine.

  * ●●●●



The clock above his shrink’s head is ticking in time with the pulsing in his head as they sit in her office. He’s bored out of his skull.

“How are you feeling today?” She asks him, already scribbling something down in her notebook.

“Great.” Mick grunts out.

She glances at him then goes back to scribbling.

“Really?”

“ _No_.”

She hums, writes something down. Mick wonders if she makes that much notes with others as well or if he’s a special case. Probably the latter.

“And it doesn’t have anything to do with Leonard’s departure? I understand that you were friends.”

Mick never thought that Leonard will sound weirder than Len, but, yeah, it does. And that ‘ _were_ ’ is just shoving that fact in his face.

He scowls, “No.”

She harrumphs and writes.

Mick tips his head upwards and closes his eyes.

  * ●●●●



He realizes he misses Len.

He misses the background chatter and puns that make him want to scrub out his brain. He misses the _peace_ it brings.

It’s… not that much of a surprise.

  * ●●●●



He goes through a third of center’s library by the end of the month. Some of it were books Len mentioned and Mick managed to remember the names of, the rest some thinner paperbacks that, Mick admits, might have ended up being exposed to some, erm, _heat_.

They don’t give him any shit for it, if they notice, so whatever.

But the fire doesn’t calm him down as much as it does usually. He’s still feeling irritable and restless, like he knows- subconsciously- that there is something he’s missing. Or that feeling like leaving the house and thinking like he forgot something before he remembers that he left the stove on. The nagging in the back of his head.

He can’t really pinpoint it. Len would probably get it, he’s got a weird way of seeing through Mick. Maybe because he read his records, but Mick has a feeling that he just gets him. They’re both throats deep in their own kind of shit, and Mick never got along with someone else quite like he does with Len.

And he- he can admit to himself that he’d like Len to be here. Yeah, he knows that it’s selfish, to wish for Len to be away from his little sister, no matter what. But Mick never said he’s a good person.

It’s probably better this way.

  * ●●●●



Mick doesn’t get visitors. There’s no one left to visit him and his social worker- only for ten more months- takes him to one of the offices whenever she has something she wants to discuss with him.

But today, he gets led to the general visitations area. There are round tables everywhere, people sat around them in groups of four, maximum, and guards in the corners. For a dumb moment when he’s not sure who he’s supposed to look for, he just stands near the entrance- and then he spots him.

He walks to the table in a haze, sits in the chair numbly, but his nerve endings are buzzing. He can feel that stupidly described warmth in his chest. It spreads inwards, around and up his lungs and shoulders like a funny blanket.

Len gives him a brief flash of a grin, reaching across the table to take a hold of his hand. He presses something warm and hard into his palm and Mick _could cry_.

“Sorry for the long wait. There’s only so many wallets I can lift before it becomes sketchy.” Len explains, like Mick could be mad at him.

Mick doesn’t care because Len is a bit pale and there’s a fading bruise on his left cheekbone, but he was lifting wallets to get a bus card just to give Mick his lighter and it’s ridiculous.

Mick grins, watching as doubt vanishes from Len’s eyes and curling his fingers around his lighter.


	7. For Better Or For Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the short chapter, I give you this.
> 
> Comment and enjoy!

The thing that surprises Mick is- Len keeps visiting. It’s an irregular schedule; whenever he can get his hands on a bus ticket and whenever he can escape his father’s clutches, but still stay sure his sister is safe. Sometimes he’s chatty, sometimes they mostly sit in silence and play cards, sometimes he’s pale and painted with fading bruises and Mick spends those visits wanting to put some ice over his skin, make sure nothing beneath is broken.

But during all the visits, Mick wonders why Len keeps coming back.

  * ●●●●



His social worker sits him down one Tuesday morning and asks him does he have any plans for when he gets out. He says no.

His sentence is slowly nearing to its end and Mick had- mostly successfully- managed to block out any thoughts about it this far. He doesn’t have a life plan. He doesn’t even have a temporary plan. He doesn’t know what he wants to do, he doesn’t know what he can do, he doesn’t know how he was supposed to know. He just doesn’t know.

She spends some time sadly looking at him and leaves him a form of some kind to fill out before she exits the room. Mick thinks it might be a school enrollment application or something- honestly, he doesn’t look at it too long before lighting up one of the corners.

  * ●●●●



He tries to block it out after that, but it’s like his impending doom is hanging over his head and following him everywhere. The questions won’t leave him alone and he can’t eat, his stomach tied up in knots. His mom had no appetite when under stress and he took after her in that. He knew that there’s nothing waiting for him outside these walls, but when he was 16, that seemed like it’s an eternity away. Now it’s just around the corner.

He thinks he had a future plan ready two years ago, but he can’t remember it for the life of him.

When he tries to imagine it, everything is blank and the only familiar thing is Len walking beside him and commenting some nonexistent person’s outfit.

The kick in the balls, though, is the fact that he can’t be sure of that. He doesn’t know what’s keeping Len around- whatever it is, he’s glad for it- and he can’t know if things will be like that in future.

The only certain thing in his imagination is the most uncertain thing in reality and it makes him feel cold and clammy and nauseous.

  * ●●●●



Len narrows his eyes at him as soon as he sits down.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks directly.

It’s cold outside; Mick can tell by the pink coloring his nose and cheeks.

“Nothing. Just some things on my mind.” He responds with a shrug. He’s due to get out in a month and he’s constantly feeling moments away from throwing up.

Len makes a sharp _hm_ sound and drums his fingers on the table top. His fingertips are wrapped in band-aids. Mick wonders bitterly how that happened.

“What things?” He asks, head tipped to the side like a cat and observing Mick with composed, blue eyes.

Mick tongues at his cheek before saying, “My social worker wants me to get back to school.”

“And?” Len prompts calmly.

“And nothing.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Len purses his lips, eyes flitting over the room like he’s calculating and measuring its proportions before settling on Mick again. “So you don’t plan on going back.” He states. “Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Because?”

Mick fists his hands, thinking about how much he can say before both of them starts being uncomfortable. “Because I’m a pyromaniac that got his family killed. Even if I did finish school, nobody would hire someone with that charge on their record.” _Not that people are particularly keen on hiring people with criminal records to begin with_ , Mick thinks, but doesn’t say out loud.

Len sucks his cheek in and chews at it, Mick can see, as his eyes focus on the tabletop in thought. He doesn’t rush to reassure him, which Mick appreciates. He doesn’t need pity and false hope. He needs a plan.

Len hums again and straightens. “I’ve got an idea for the start,” he says, tips his head again- like he’s tipping his hat at someone, Mick notes amused-, “we’ll figure something out from then on.”

“We?” He blurts out because _we_ means _us_ and _we’ll_ means _us in the future_. He tries to keep the hope rising to a minimum.

Len gives him a ‘Duh’ expression. “Duh.”

Mick is simultaneously embarrassed, surprised and confused.

“Why do you stick around?” He asks. It’s something that’s been bugging him for a while.

It’s Len’s turn to look confused- which is just a micro expression change via his eyebrows scrunching up slightly, but Mick catches it nonetheless. It’s gone in a second though, his features smoothing out and his eyes getting a knowing, warm quality to them. It’s a strange, rare look on him.

“We’re friends, jackass.” His tone is back to his usual know-it-all sarcasm. “I was under impression that that’s what friends do.”

It is.

He doesn’t know what idea Len came up with, but the knowledge that there’s a metaphorical safety net beneath him makes him breathe easier. Maybe he doesn’t need a plan now that the guy with one is affirmably going to stay.

“Besides, Lisa is too young to understand my jokes.”

“That’s because your jokes suck.”

Friends are entitled to be a bit of an asshole to each other, right?

  * ●●●●



Mick steps out into the chill of morning air, squinting up at the sky. He’s jittery with nerves, feeling, well, free.

He rolls his shoulders, getting accustomed to the tight fit of fabric. The clothes in the duffle in his hand are all his, just like the ones he’s wearing now, but he was noticeably lankier when he first got here. Everything he has used to be a bit baggy, but now it fits just right.

He starts walking down the sidewalk when a whistle splits through the air. He looks around to find Len lounging on a brick wall over the street. He lifts his arm shoulder- level and gives Mick a dramatic salute. Dork.

Mick snorts and makes his way towards him.

He’s sitting on the top of the wall and swinging his feet, a faint smirk on his face when Mick approaches. There’s a paper bag laying next to him.

“How does it feel to be a free man?” Len asks him jokingly.

Mick grins, “Fantastic. What are you doing?”

Len shoves the paper bag in his hands, jumps down. “I brought you food.”

_Not- juvie food?_ Mick’s mouth waters at the thought.

He opens the bag and groans. “A burger? Fuck yes.” He bites down with gusto.

“This is so good,” he says through a mouthful of greasy deliciousness.

Len snorts at him, jerks his chin over his shoulder, “C’mon, let's go.”

Mick pauses, “What? Where? I’m still eating.”

Len arches an eyebrow at him, “You can eat and walk, don’t you? C’mon.” He says, spins on his heels and starts walking.

The burger is long gone by the time Len stops in front of a mostly derelict, two-story house. He fumbles with the doorknob for a few seconds before he has an ‘Ah-ha’ moment, kicks at the bottom of the doors and they finally open. They slip inside and Len leads him up the stairs over dust covered floor. Mick is quiet, though he wants to ask what they’re doing here.

They enter a room that used to be a living room, TV is gone, but there’s a lumpy couch pushed against the wall. Len points at it.

“Move it away from the wall.” He instructs.

Mick looks at him unimpressed. “Can’t you move it yourself?”

“Yeah,” Len starts flatly, “but then I’d have to catch my breath for about ten minutes.”

“Valid,” Mick nods because, yeah, Len is still a tiny twig.

He drags the couch over the floor, the boards protesting under the weight, until there are solid three feet of space between the couch and the wall. Len hums in approval and starts tapping the boards with his foot.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Shh.” Len hisses, then crouches to dislodge one of the boards. He shoves his hand in the opening and pulls out a bag that just fits in his palm.

“Len?” Mick asks expectantly.

“Yeah? Len asks as he raises to his feet.

“What is that?”

“This,” Len walks over to him, “is the idea I mentioned.”

“The bag?”

Len grins, “What’s in the bag.” Then he pulls the laces that keep it closed and pours something out of it in his palm. Mick stares and then blinks to make sure he’s seeing right- and then he stares some more.

“Are that-“

Len holds up his hand, the gem glinting between his thumb and index finger. “Yep, diamonds.”

Mick gives him a long look of disbelief, absolutely stunned.

“Holy fuck.” He says, laugh bubbling up in his throat. “You stole diamonds.”

“Well, yeah. I told you.” Len responds nonchalantly.

“And you- you hid them here?”

“I wasn’t going to bring them home and have Lewis find them or Lisa accidentally eat them.” Len explains, then scrunches his nose, “I doubt diamonds are good for eight-year old’s digestive system.”

Len is ridiculous. And amazing. Mick could kiss him right now.

He laughs instead. Laughs at the incredibility of this all and laughs until his sides hurt. He catches a sight of Len laughing along, shoulders shaking, corners of his eyes wrinkling and grinning wide. He’s got that kind of a smile that makes laugh lines next to the corners of his lips and a dimple in his right cheek and the rush of warmth makes Mick keep laughing until they’re both breathless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler (kind of): the next chapter should have Mick finally meeting Lisa, so... tell me how do you think their meeting will go. I'm curious. :)


	8. Quiet Companionship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is Mick meeting Lisa, and I might have gotten a bit carried away.
> 
> Comment and enjoy!

Mick finds a cheap apartment above an auto shop twenty minutes away from Len’s home. He gets a job in the shop- he suspects that, somehow, Len had something to do with it- and generally tries to stay off the radar until child service gets off his neck. They need to make sure he is capable to take care of himself and live like a real adult or something.

The apartment is pretty small- one bedroom and bathroom and one room that joins the kitchen and the living room. One of the taps in the bathroom is leaking and he has no backyard where he can burn stuff. But Mick gets by just fine. And when he thinks about Len and his sister, alone with their father, he knows he’s getting by better than just fine.

  * ●●●●



Len calls one evening while Mick’s lounging in front of the TV.

“We’re coming up, so put on some pants.” It’s all he says to Mick before he hangs up. Mick doesn’t particularly care about his modesty, but knowing Len, a man can never be sure what the ‘we’ means. So he scrambles for a first pair of jeans he can get his hands on (the ones draped over the couch backrest) and pulls them on.

He’s really happy he does because when he opens the door, he is greeted by a meanest stink eye since his sister found out he was the one taking the cookies from the jar (something their mom kept blaming her for).

He stays in a staring contest with the kid until Len nudges her forward and saunters into the kitchen. He’s poking through his cupboards, but Mick is still caught on the little girl standing in the middle of his apartment. Lisa, his mind provides in a second it takes him to connect the dots.

Between Len and her, there’s really not a lot of similarities. Her hair is honey brown, slightly curly and her skin has a bit of a natural tan to it. And where Len’s eyes are light, silver- blue, hers are a dark shade of hazel. She’s a cute kid overall, he thinks, when she’s not looking at him like she witnessed him kicking a puppy or something equally hideous.

But a pissy kid is not his biggest concern right now. He gives her an awkward smile (he’d like to keep it on a ‘not the biggest concern’ for as long as possible) and follows Len into the kitchen. He breezed past Mick so fast it might have been a trick of the light, but when he faces Mick, there’s a red area on his left cheekbone. It’s not swelling, but it’s definitely going to bruise.

He turns to dig a bag of peas out of the freezer, his gut twisting and turning in anger.

“I know it’s a tricky fit, but you think you can squeeze us somewhere for the night?” Len asks before Mick presses the bag to his cheek.

Mick is tempted to roll his eyes. “Of course you can stay, dumbass.” He shrugs, “If you think you can share a bed, I’ll take the couch.”

Len opens his mouth to protest; a reflex because he has to fight for everything, but Mick gets ahead of him.

“Shut up, I fall asleep in front of TV most of the time anyway.”

The answer satisfies Len- or at least it keeps him quiet for the duration of dinner.

 Lisa doesn’t refuse food, but she makes sure to throw a suspicious look at Mick whenever she has a chance. Len is mostly quiet, Mick can see the wheels grinding in his head, he’s planning and calculating something, so there’s not much to cut through the silence. If Mick’s being honest, he’s not really surprised that Lisa doesn’t immediately like him; from what he heard and understands, living with Lewis Snart is not exactly a fairytale. He can’t blame her for being suspicious and wary around complete strangers- besides, he’s sure she’ll warm up to him quickly.

  * ●●●●



Lisa is definitely not his biggest fan. He was certain she’ll grow to like- or at least not hate- him because Len stuck to him pretty much from the start. And to Mick it seems obvious that Len was the one taking the brunt of his father’s issues on daily basis. But Lisa is still so damn suspicious, watching him like a hawk and answering to everything like it’s a yes/no question. It’s… not unreasonable because she has the right to feel whatever she pleases, no matter if Mick understands it or not, but it’s frustrating and not small amounts of worrying.

He knows that Lisa is the absolute most important thing in Len’s life, it’s not even a question. And if it turns out that Lisa can’t work with him, if they can’t find some common ground, Mick doesn’t doubt that Len would pick Lisa’s comfort over anything else. It sounds selfish, he knows, but he wants to keep Len around for as long as possible. And if Lisa is willing to try, he could absolutely play nice. He had a baby sister once too.

  * ●●●●



Mick wakes up to his phone ringing next to his head. He answers disoriented, noting it’s too early even for him to be up.

“What?”

“Lisa missed her bus.”

“What?”

“Lisa. Bus. Can you drive her to school?” In his defense, Len doesn’t seem to be dealing well with being awake either.

Mick grumbles, shoves his head in the pillow, then responds. “When does her school start?”

“Eight.”

“Holy shit.” Mick answers in horror. No wonder that she’s always so pissed.

“Mick.” Len says sharply to get him back on track.

He sits up, “Yeah, yeah. I can drive her.”

Len sighs on the other end. “Be here in ten?”

“Yeah.”

He brushes his teeth sloppily and washes his face before pulling on a shirt, a pair of jeans and grabbing his boots and is halfway out the door before he remembers to grab the car keys. It’s one of customers’, but like they’ll know he drove a kid to school in it.

Len is waiting with Lisa in front of their house when he arrives. Len just waves and sends Lisa over before disappearing back in the house. Mick suddenly realizes he’s gonna be alone with Lisa for the entirety of a ten-minute long drive. _Fuck_.

He gets out to open the door for her and help her into backseat- she doesn’t complain, although he can see her making a face at him- and then starts driving, careful not to step over the speed limit. Getting pulled over with a kid that’s not related to him in a car that’s not his is not something he needs. And he doubts Lisa would enjoy the experience either. Len even less.

He knows where the school is, Len told him once before, and he parks in front of the entrance so Lisa doesn’t get smushed in the crowd of kids and teenagers milling around the parking lot. He doesn’t see how is playing tag on the parking lot safer than playing on the road, but whatever. Not his kids, not his problem.

He helps Lisa out the car again, stays for a moment until she fixes her backpack and makes sure she has everything she needs.

He catches her watching one of the girls playing tag; she apparently shares his opinion of playing on the parking lot, but she’s watching the girl’s hair braided into fishtail with longing and twirling a hair tie around her wrist. 

Something in him twists, a pang of something sharp cutting into his chest.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” He finds himself asking. It’s not like he doesn’t know how to; having three younger sisters does that to a man, but it’s like he’s deliberately setting himself up for a letdown.

Lisa looks up at him. “No,” she responds immediately, turns on her heels and breezes into the building.

“Right,” Mick says to himself, like a moron, “Have a nice day, I guess.”

 _Great, now he’s talking to himself_.

  * ●●●●



“I think your sister doesn’t like me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

  * ●●●●



There’s a knock on his door just as he’s done brushing his teeth. It’s late, so he already knows who it is, but he’s still not prepared for the sight that greets him.

Len is… he’s fine. He is. He’s pale and bruised, but he’s standing and he’s breathing. So he’s fine. He’s got a hand on Lisa’s shoulder, who is quiet and still, but not in that angry way.

“Get in,” he says, lets them pass through the door and leads them both to the couch. At first glance there are no obvious wounds on Lisa and Len is not saying anything either, so Mick just grabs a blanket from his room while he’s going to retrieve the aid kit. He drops the blanket around her tiny shoulders, tucking her in and there’s a lump in his throat when she sniffs and nuzzles in tighter.

She’s glued to Len, but that’s fine, and Mick works around her while he’s inspecting Len. There’s nothing broken, but he’s painted in various shades of red, his palm cut open. Mick focuses on cleaning and bandaging the cut, and ignoring the feeling like a red-hot knife carving at him, so he doesn’t do something stupid- like grab a gallon of gasoline and drive off to Len’s house.

“Wait here, I’ll grab you some Ibuprofen.” He tells Len once he’s done. He knows Len won’t take a pill as it is, so he crushes it between two spoons and drops it in a glass of water. Len is pretty much done once it starts to work.

Mick can’t sleep. He twists and turns on the couch and then deals with the fact he’ll spend the night sitting at the kitchen table and drinking tea. He’s on his second cup when a movement catches his attention.

Lisa is standing near the fridge, quiet and Mick immediately stands up.

“Lisa, hey. You can’t sleep? Do you want a glass of warm milk or-“ he cuts himself off when he notices the expression on her face and she bursts.

She starts crying, quiet, broken sobs tearing from her as she slowly makes her way towards him and hugs his legs. It’s not a way a kid was supposed to cry, contained and almost unnoticed and Mick is not furious only because she is clinging to him and seeking comfort. He only felt like this when Julie fell off a tree and broke her arm, crying loud enough for everyone to hear, but, God, this is so much worse.

He doesn’t know what to do other than kneel down to be level with her and give her a proper hug. She holds on with a bruising grip, shaking with sobs and Mick feels like being torn apart with each tear she spills. He doesn’t think he ever hated someone as much as he hates Lewis Snart at that moment.

  * ●●●●



Mick’s phone rings.

“What?”

“Bus.”

He sighs. “I’ll be there in ten.”

  * ●●●●



The ride is silent, but Lisa at least doesn’t spend it glaring at him, so Mick will count it as a win. He helps her out of the car, as usual, and makes sure she hasn’t forgotten anything. There are kids playing tag again, and just as Mick is about to leave, Lisa snags his sleeve.

“Wait,” she says, squirming.

Mick crouches, “What is it?”

Lisa points her finger at fishtail braid girl, “Can you braid my hair like that?”

Mick swallows around a lump in his throat, grins, “Yeah, I can do that.”


	9. 1+2 Makes A Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is silly, really.
> 
> Comment and enjoy. :)

Despite the bumpy start, Lisa warms up to Mick as soon as she notes his hair braiding skills. She makes a complete spin on her attitude too; from cold and pissy to a ray of sunshine with a definitive liking of his cooking skills as well. He’s not entirely sure how it happens, knows just that somehow, from driving her to school on occasion, he turned into a chauffeur, a cook and a hairdresser without noticing it.

The worst thing is that he’s sensing that Len knows how stumped he is and doesn’t feel like offering any explanations. Smug jackass.

Though, he’s not really complaining. Lisa is a great kid (when she’s not trying to get Mick in trouble) and she apparently, for some reason, wants to spend as much time at his place as possible. It means that the three of them (because Len and Lisa come like a package deal) occupy his couch for most of the week- and that is also pretty damn great.

  * ●●●●



“Mick. Mick. Mick. Mick.”

Mick wakes up to something pointy poking at his cheek and a mantra of his name playing in repeat somewhere to his right. He cracks his eyes open.

Lisa is standing near the couch, clad in jeans, a blue shirt and with sneakers on her feet. It takes him a moment to realize what’s wrong with that picture. She and Len hadn’t stayed over last night.

He lurches of the couch, cold feeling coming over him like someone dropped a bucket of icy water down his neck. Lisa takes a step back, startled and Mick immediately sits down, forcing himself to stay still even though he wants nothing more than to run all the way to their house and see where Len is.

He reaches for Lisa to rub her arm in apology and reassurance, “Sorry,” he apologizes. “Where is Len?”

“Home.” Lisa says simply.

Now that Mick takes a closer look, she doesn’t seem all that shaken.

“Home? What is he doing?” He questions suspiciously, his heartbeat going back to normal slowly.

Lisa shrugs, “Sleeping, probably.”

Sleeping.

“So, he’s fine?”

She nods. “Yeah. But I’m hungry, make me pancakes.”

Mick- Mick has to take a moment to collect himself. He narrows his eyes at her.

“You woke me up so I can feed you?”

“Yup.”

Unbelievable. She and Len are definitely related, no doubt.

“You make them better and Len gets grumpy if I wake him up.” She adds.

Mick shoves his face in his hands and groans. He is so done with Snarts. “Did you tell him you’re coming here?”

The silence is his answer. He looks up to find her squirming. _Fantastic_.

“Did you at least leave a note?”

More squirming.

He sighs. “Alright.” He stands up, “You go call him, I’ll go make you pancakes.”

  * ●●●●



Len chews her out quite spectacularly, but it’s more to make her remember to tell him before taking off than because he’s mad. All in all, Lisa gets her pancakes and Len eventually trudges in, demanding coffee and dozing off with his face on the table.

  * ●●●●



Len hits a growth spurt- and _it’s hilarious_.

Mick hadn’t realized how graceful he was before he started smacking his elbows into things and tripping over his own feet, but he finds out his aim is impeccable when he jokingly tells him he’s ugly duckling turning into a swan and Len throws a TV remote at his head. He avoids a concussion by a hair.

But he was right; Len did go from tiny and skinny to gangly and lanky and is now mostly tall and lean. He’s just a few inches shorter than Mick- which should be enough to make him stop complaining about aching limbs.

He’s sprawled over Mick’s bad, face down, when Mick finally boils over.

“Fine,” he snaps, throwing his hands up, “I’ll give you a massage!”

Len looks up, startled out of waxing woeful poetics about his back pain. “What?”

“I’ll give you a massage, so you stop complaining already.” Mick repeats, making his way towards the bed.

For a brief moment, Len looks like he’s going to refuse, but in the end he just shoves his face in the pillow.

Mick sits on the edge of the bed, rearranges his arms into proper position. His grandpa had a physiotherapist that actually did house calls, so he knows how this works. _In theory_.

On the first contact, Len almost jumps out of the bed. “Ow, Mick, what the hell!”

“Hold still-“

“Are you trying to crush me?!”

“You’re overdramatic.”

“Is that much force really necessary?”

“Well, I gotta work out the kinks-”

“You’re crushing my muscles-“

“What muscles?”

Len throws a glare at him over his shoulder, then makes a strangled noise and shoves his face back in the pillow when Mick digs his thumbs in.

He works from his shoulders downwards, kneading the soft skin and lean muscles. Len mostly keeps quiet from then on, occasionally making a noise of approval or a moan when Mick works out a knot of tight muscles. Delighted, Mick finds out that he’s insanely ticklish when he comes to his sides and tries to squirm away when his thumbs dig into the underside of his knees. It’s weirdly endearing.

When he’s done, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Len is breathing a little heavier, probably from the impromptu tickle attack earlier, but he has practically melted into the mattress.

“Good?”

Len makes a happy noise he’s undoubtedly going to deny making for the rest of their lives.

“You gonna get up any time soon?”

Len hums a negative back. _Okay_.

“You gonna take a nap?”

The happy noise again.

Mick snorts, but he’s grinning and squeezes the back of his neck briefly before standing up.

“Alright, I’ll be in the kitchen.” He says and leaves Len to get his beauty sleep.

For some reason, he wants to go back, but doesn’t try to decipher it.

  * ●●●●



They don’t mention the massage, never, but that doesn’t mean Mick doesn’t find himself doing the very same thing every couple of weeks.

And it definitely doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it.

  * ●●●●



He goes to the park with Lisa one Saturday and it’s one of the best days of his life.

First, he thinks he’s going to lose his mind and finally understands why Len hates going to the park with her. Lisa is like a freaking lightning; zapping around, she’s here, then she’s there, then Mick is fighting off a coronary when he thinks he loses a sight of her- she’s with a group of other kids (they’re all loud and tiny and buzzing with energy, how the hell was he supposed to keep up?).

But it’s all worth it in the end.

He’s sitting on one of the benches, feeling a trio of mothers judging him from the bench to the left, when a cry pierces through the air. Everything quiets down for a second before going back to the usual chatter and he catches a sight of Lisa scowling at a boy sitting on the ground, clutching his nose and calling for his mom. Mick is ready to stand up when he sees a woman race towards them, but then the most amazing thing happens.

The woman, furious, the mother undoubtedly, grabs Lisa’s upper arm and opens her mouth to speak; Mick is about to get involved then, march there and rip her away from Lisa because who the fuck does she think she is, but the look on Lisa’s face has him pausing in his intentions. It’s Len’s patent ‘you’re fucked’ look and he watches Lisa grin like a cat about to pounce before she takes a deep breath- and screams from the top of her lungs.

“Stranger danger! Stranger danger!” She’s howling. The woman jumps back like she was burned, stunned and wide-eyed.

Mick is trying not to laugh, he can barely make his way to Lisa. But he does; he scoops her up, shoots a glare at the woman (he’s a part of the charade now) and they make their exit.

On their way, he asks Lisa what happened.

“He was pulling my hair and I gave him two warnings.” She explains innocently.

They sit in the car for five minutes because Mick is laughing so hard he can’t drive.

  * ●●●●



When he tells Len what happened, Len laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes. It’s amazing.


	10. Karma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this was one of the most satisfying to write chapters I have written until now.
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :D

Mick drives Lisa from the school straight to his apartment, listening to her excited rambling about the day she had. It ends with a gleeful “And my skating lessons are starting again this Saturday!”

Lisa is very passionate about ice skating. And very good from what he’s been told. She was jittery and pouting the last three weeks because the instructor who was teaching her class broke his ankle and they couldn’t find the new one until now. It’s all been very tricky; parent meetings and everything- Mick knows because Len attended every single one of them and then had an obligatory ‘rich people’ ramble in the car.

How Len pulled off going to the meetings? Well, “Me and my baby sister live with our grandma who’s too sick to attend,” was what he told Mick as an explanation with an innocent look that made Mick roll his eyes. That look worked surprisingly well on the parents and the main _whatever-he’s-called_   person in charge though. Probably because they don’t know Len, but it might be just Mick. After all, he had trouble believing that Santa was entering the houses through the chimney once he found out- after a ‘too-embarrassing-to-name’ event- that people can’t shrink to fit in a space they wish.

But the matter has been solved and Lisa is back to her cheery self. Which is all well and good- so naturally something comes up.

  * ●●●●



Len enters the car and closes the door with a slam after the first meeting with Lisa’s new instructor.

“Un-fucking-believable.” He says immediately.

_Uh-oh_ , Mick thinks, calculating how bad it would be if he jokingly told Len to censor himself.

 “What happened?” He asks instead, firing up the engine.

“Those pretentious assholes- what the fu-do they think money grows on trees?” Len rambles on, shoving a piece of paper in Mick’s hand.

Mick looks at it and then has to take a second look because he thinks he’s seeing it wrong. He isn’t.

“What the fuck?” He asks out loud.

Len throws his hands up as much as the roof allows him to emphasize his agreement.

“This is ridiculous. Do they think everyone has enough money to wipe their ass with?” Mick rebukes.

Len makes a strangled noise of frustration and now throws out his hands in ‘ _I know, right?!_ ’ gesture. It’s dramatic, in true Len fashion, and absolutely justified this time.

That sum for one lesson is absurd. Mick doesn’t know what the fuck that guy thinks he’s teaching them, but he has to be delusional.

Len is still fuming by the time they get to Mick’s apartment, loudly, but slips back into his usual cool self once they enter the apartment. Lisa is doing homework, with the TV playing cartoons in the background, at the kitchen table and Mick fixes her some cereal before sending her off to sleep. They don’t talk about it anymore that night.

  * ●●●●



Lessons are being paid at the end of each month and as this one is coming to an end, Len seems to be more and more pissed off. He did some calculations and when he told Mick exactly how much one month will cost and how much the instructor is earning every month, Mick swears he almost got an aneurysm.

He exits the store to find Len looking at something down and across the street with an unwavering look of thoughtfulness. He doesn’t like it.

“What’re you looking at?” He questions.

Len doesn’t respond immediately, just raises an eyebrow in acknowledgment, and rubs at his wrist.

Mick follows his line of sight and stops at the girl leaning into a driver’s window of a black SUV. She’s wearing a tiny, skintight dress that does nothing to protect her from the cold air and Mick wants to make a joke, but the thoughtful look on Len’s face makes much more sense when she steps back and the car drives away and she’s counting a wad of cash in her hands.

Mick’s stomach turns over, heart skipping a beat at the thought alone.

“No,” he says firmly. Again, it’s not that Len’s not good looking, but just thinking about some creep putting his hands on him, planning to do God knows what makes Mick feel sick and itchy.

“It pays better than most things.” Len replies calmly.

“It’s more dangerous than most things.” Mick counters.

Len presses his lips into a thin line, all color going out of them, and Mick knows he’s weighing pros and cons in his head. Mick wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he’s thinking clearly again.

“No,” he repeats, “Come on, you’re gonna figure something out. Something else.” He says, takes a hold of Len’s forearm and gently nudges him to start walking. Len obliges, but he’s silent for the most of the walk and Mick can’t sleep properly that night.

  * ●●●●



Mick enters his apartment with Lisa in tow to find Len scribbling something in a notepad, papers strewn around him on the floor and quietly muttering to himself.

He looks down at Lisa to see if she knows what’s up with that. She shakes her head at him with wide eyes. “Grumpy,” she mouths soundlessly.

_He shouldn’t disturb Len, got it_.

Lisa goes ahead to do her homework and Mick retreats to the garage.

  * ●●●●



Mick enters the skating rink to be greeted by the sounds of skates slicing through the ice and gleeful whooping. There are few people seated on the benches all around, mostly parents, he assumes, and he finds Lisa waving at him from a fence separating ice rink from the watching area.

She’s got her hair tied back and a thick wool sweater over her uniform. For all Len’s love of cold, he sure swaddles Lisa when it comes to it.

The instructor, the beanpole guy with a stick up his ass, is watching her group as each kid takes a turn in making a few different jumps and twirls that Mick can’t name, but doesn’t suspect would have him landing on his ass instead of graceful landings the kids do.

When Lisa’s turn comes, she grins wide and off she goes. She’s fast and elegant, almost laughing at every successful landing after equally successful and impressive jump she does. She looks a lot like Len when she’s laughing too, not physically, but in a sense like she’s not worried about anything. Mick understands why it’s so important to Len to keep these lessons.

  * ●●●●



“I need a getaway driver,” Len announces during the breakfast, pours about a gallon of maple syrup on his pancakes.

“What?” Mick asks because Len already mentioned what kind of stuff his dad pulls him into, but this would be the first time Len is actively including him in one of ‘the jobs’.

Len, following his line of thought, rolls his eyes. “Not with him. It’s a… private job.”

“Private job? What does that mean?”

“It means it’s none of Lewis’ business. We’re doing this on our own.” Len says determinedly.

Mick raises his eyebrows at him, “Just you and me?”

Len nods, “Exactly.”

Mick doesn’t know much about pre-planned robberies, but he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to be so chill about it. Then again, he doesn’t know much about pre-planned robberies and it’s Len he’s talking about here. He’s always chill, if at least just seemingly.

“Okay. What’s the plan?”

  * ●●●●



Len spends the drive flipping through the blueprints of the house he’s planning to rob and popping his knuckles, and then Mick is left in silence for about fifteen minutes, parked in the shadows on the street, before he’s back and they head back home. All in all, it wouldn’t even feel like a theft if Len wasn’t counting the bills when they stopped at the red light in that shitty part of town where the higher ups don’t even bother to put up cameras.

  * ●●●●



It’s the last Saturday in the month and Len is _glowing_. It’s that smug kind of glow though, so Mick’s waiting for the punchline before he relaxes. It happens when he’s driving Lisa to school.

“-and we don’t have a lesson this Saturday because Mr. Garner has to go to the police.”

Mick glances at her briefly, “What? He did something?”

“No, someone robbed his house.” Lisa responds simply and _there is the punchline_.

  * ●●●●



Len is laying on the couch when he gets back, feet kicked up on the backrest and eating chips. He’s the epitome of chill.

“Len,” he starts, sitting on the free space on the couch and the movement jars Len’s legs, makes them slip and land on Mick’s back, “did you pay the instructor with his own money?”

Len looks at him, crunches down on another slice of chips, “Yep.” He responds nonchalantly and Mick is- Mick is at the loss of words.

“Len?” He asks.

“Hm?”

“You’re amazing.”

Len blinks at him and Mick thinks he might have overstepped it, but then Len grins that grin that makes the dimple in his right cheek visible. The lighting of the room makes it seem like his cheeks are pink.

He smirks then, “Yeah, well, I gave karma a little push.”


	11. Eyes That See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here's another chapter. 
> 
> Also, you're gonna have to pry adorable, curly-haired Len out of my cold, dead hands.
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

Len is kind of a brilliant. A genius in a way that he can see things others can’t. He looks at them from a different angle, or through a special pair of glasses. Mick notices it when he’s interacting with people, side-eyeing them on the street, sweeping calculating glances over them in a store or in a bar and measuring their values without them knowing. And Mick is standing somewhere in between; aware of that, but still not sure what’s going through Len’s head. It’s different when they’re alone; although Len’s still doing his calculating thing, he lets Mick in. Here, though, Mick’s in the dark.

The warehouse is dimly lit, a single light bulb hanging above the table with blueprints spread over it. Len is scrawling something on the margins, stony-faced and drumming his fingers on the tabletop. The other three guys are fiddling with their equipment a few feet away and Mick wonders if this is the usual pre- heist mood.

The week earlier, Len barged into his apartment announcing that Mick shouldn’t take any offers he gets that day. His dad was gathering two crews to do a heist and he was looking for young blood to fill in the spots. Len wanted to keep Lewis away from Mick. He said so outright multiple times, but Mick had already picked up the phone when Len came by. So here they are. It’s four guys a crew, but Mick doubts that Len and he will end up in the same one since Mick’s been recommended strictly for his _fiery_ nature and Len has obviously been tasked with finer work.

Speaking of Len again, Mick can’t tell anything except that he’s Not Happy. There’s a ‘ _stare and maybe you’ll see it_ ’ line between his eyebrows that’s the only indicator that something worries him. He seems so out of the place here, too young and exposed to the danger in this place, dust and cobwebs and no-good rotten youth of Central City all around. His hair is sticking around in black, tiny curls, shorter than when they were in the juvie, but still long enough to kinda fall over his forehead when he’s bent over the table and blueprints like that. If Mick didn’t know him, he’d mistaken him for someone fragile and vulnerable. He can see it on the others’ faces though, doubtful, but probably familiar with Lewis Snart and his business rules to question it. Incompetent fools are not someone he works with. At least not twice.

Mick can’t hear it, but Len’s phone probably buzzes because he pulls it out of his pocket and presses to his ear. His face is blank as he speaks. It’s not even a few seconds before he hangs up, a scowl on his face. He straightens up, eyes briefly skimming over Mick before he shouts, “Five minutes!”

He looks back at Mick and motions for him to follow. They stop a good distance away from the others.

“He wants you on his team.”He informs Mick.

Mick grunts, “Thought he would.”                                                  

Len frowns, eyes narrowing, “Just keep your head down, mouth shut and do your part.” He instructs seriously. “I’d prefer it if you got out of this alive.”

  * ●●●●



Mick’s first impression of Lewis Snart is not particularly flattering to the man. And that’s what he is- a man. An average man. But that’s the point of everything, Mick thinks. It would be much easier if the monster he is was visible on the surface instead of shifting under his skin. But Mick can see it shifting, notices the cold, greedy look in his eyes just because he heard the stories of his cruelty and had seen its evidence.

He listens to Len; doesn’t draw attention to himself, play pretends to be the big dumb guy everyone pegs him for and keeps his head down. It’s good he does because one of the lugs from their team snarks back at one of Lewis’ instructions and gets a fist to the gut in response. It’s so sudden and Mick doesn’t know who’s built Len inherited because Lewis has enough bulk on him to make sure that the guy ends up dry heaving and gasping for the air afterward. The satisfied gleam in bastard’s eyes makes Mick hate him that much more. Mick could still take him, but murder with witnesses is not something he needs to get tangled in.

The building they have targeted is on the private property, but the metal fence is already opened and the cameras are disconnected. The car Len’s team used is already there.

They all get out in silence, greeted by one of the guys from Len’s team and follow him inside.

The walls are decorated with what Mick doesn’t doubt are some super pricey paintings, various mini- statues set on every corner and big vases with nothing in them (which just makes them useless if you ask Mick).

Len is nowhere to be seen, but Mick remembers what he told him and focuses on his job. They start loading pretty much everything into the van, almost done and Mick is loading in a freaking sofa with another guy when a beam of headlights illuminates him. His heart skips, the guy next to him starts cursing furiously and panicking. Mick tells him to shut the fuck up and load in the fucking sofa.

Hearing the commotion, Lewis exits the house. He takes a look at the car coming closer with each second, his jaw muscles jumping and his hands curling into fists. In the next blink, he’s all collected calm and charisma- ready to pounce.

The car finally stops and Mick’s heart is still hammering a hundred miles per hour. He can only hear the door opening and a shouted, “Hey! What are you doing?!” because he’s facing the van and not the car.

He risks a glance at Lewis. The man jerks his head to the entrance to the building quickly, mentioning for Mick and the guy to get in and back to work.

They obey. The last things Mick hears are Lewis’ footsteps and his smooth, calm voice overlapping with the shouting of the man that just arrived.

Mick doesn’t know what he’s expecting; Lewis can’t possibly think that he can charm the guy to not call the police. For the first time since they got here, he catches a sight of Len on the stairwell leading to the second floor.

The sounds of distinguished shouting can be heard from outside and Len raises an eyebrow as if asking, “ _What’s up with that?_ ”

Mick shakes his head, mouthing, “ _The owner_ ,” at him.

Len wrinkles his nose like that’s inconveniencing him. Which, well _, yeah_.

With one final glance at Mick, he disappears back upstairs and Mick goes to see if they missed anything. He’s sweeping through the living room, eyes absently skimming over the photos stacked above the fireplace. The man (assumingly the one from the outside) with a blonde woman and a little girl, all smiling at the camera. He’s musing how the girl seems to be Lisa’s age, wonders if they go to the same school when a noise, like a small, contained explosion makes him jump out of his skin.

 _A gunshot_ , he realizes, stomach flipping like he’s on a roller coaster. He risks a peek through the curtains, sees a body sprawled on the ground, headlights like a spotlight shining on him and Lewis still holding a gun in his hand. The two guys from the crew run outside, prompted by the noise, just to stop as soon as they take in the sight before them. They say something and Lewis turns to them with a sneer on his face and the gun raised. He says something to them and they scramble to get back in the building.

“Dresden! Snart wants you outside!” One of them shouts when they get inside.

Mick watches as the guy walks outside, nonchalant as they come (it’s obviously not his first murder, or he’s worked with Lewis before). Lewis tells him something, then they both bend down and start carrying the limp body, disappearing outside the circle of the light from the building and the headlights.

Mick hopes Len didn’t see.

  * ●●●●



His apartment is unlocked when he gets there and Len is eating ice cream out of the tube on his bed. They’re both quiet as Mick toes off his boots and settles on the bed as well, mimicking Len’s cross-legged pose, and Len hands him another spoon.

They eat in silence for a while before Len speaks up.

“Did you see it?”

Mick carefully balances his spoon mid-air, pausing. “Yeah. Only after, though.” He responds.

Len hums, eyes fixed on his spoon; he’s trying to break a big chunk in the tube on two smaller pieces.

“I saw him once when I was, um, ten. Eleven? Anyway, I was scared shitless for God knows how long that he’s gonna kill me too.” Len confesses quietly.

 _So much about hoping Len doesn’t see it_ , Mick thinks, trying to distract himself from imagining Lewis Snart’s throat under his hands, his fingers crushing his windpipe and choking the life out of him.

Len scoffing brings him back to reality. He looks defeated.

“Like he actually cared that I saw. Or as anyone would listen to a kid.” He says with a scowl, jabs his spoon in the ice cream. He makes deep lines in it and then smoothes them down with the kinda flat part of his spoon; like the lines were never even there. So typical of Len to cover up anything remotely resembling an emotion or a weakness.

He doesn’t know what to say. He knows that Len suffers, has suffered and couldn’t call for help. And when he could, nobody would help him. 'Sorry' wouldn’t cut it. No amount of apologizing would ever fix it, even Mick can see that. Len is pissed at the world and rightfully so.

“So what exactly did you see?” He finds himself asking.

Len looks up so fast Mick is convinced he gets whiplash. He blinks at Mick. Then narrows his eyes at him.

“I don’t need pity.” He scowls.

Mick scowls right back. “Well, I ain’t giving it to you. I’m asking because I care and I wanna know.”

Len scrunches up his nose, “You care?”

“Yeah, jackass. Apparently, that’s what friends do.” Mick tells him.

“Oh,” Len breaths out. He’s got his head bent and his hair is falling over his forehead again, but Mick can see him blinking at the ice cream tube.

“Yeah, oh.” He pokes Len’s knee with his toes, “Now tell me.”

Len looks up, his eyes a bit brighter and like he just figured something out, another ‘oh’ moment. He takes a deep breath and starts talking.


	12. The Right Thing Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mick has a bit of an enlightenment and Len is... Len.
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

Len turns 18 and it’s… it’s an experience.

Mick grew up in Keystone, but he supposes that the rules of neighbor gossiping are the same in a big city like Central City as they were there. Mainly because Len turns 18- and everyone knows. And Mick notices Len noticing; he gets colder, his edges sharper and his glares deadlier. For all his drama and fanfare, Len doesn’t like attention. At least not this kind. It happened before, sure, a leering glance every once in a while, a whistle from over the street- this part of Central is not known for its manners- but that never bothered Len. There was a metaphorical barricade between Len and that behavior and that made it unimportant. Until the crowds started getting bold; criminality rate aside, being legal or not still mattered, and Len now fell into the legal category. And then that barricade disappeared.

Girls were still manageable, some giggling and hair twirling, but a scowl and a death glare from Len when they got too close was enough to send them scurrying away. It’s the guys that set even Mick’s teeth on edge. They were pushy and more often than not didn’t want to get the hint until Mick beat it into them. Len was, of course, pissy and all “ _I had it handled, Mick,_ ” later, but he said the same for the juvie fight and they both know how that would have ended if it weren’t for Mick. So there’s that.

The word that Snart’s kid ( _Mick, actually_ ) packs a mean punch spreads and things settle a bit, but the whole thing doesn’t stop until Len, in fact, does kick a creep’s ass in front of a whole bar. Well, he pulls the chair from under the creep’s ass and tells the fucker off in that Len way that has even Mick feeling embarrassed for the guy. Not much, though.

Things get back to the normal, more or less.

And Mick doesn’t think about how something in him settles once everyone backs off.

  * ●●●●



They are in a bar when it hits Mick.

Len is sitting next to him, back turned to the bar and looking out at the room with a disinterested gaze. Mick admits that the middle of a week is not the finest time to go out, but Lisa is at the sleepover- something to do with a school project, Mick thinks- so they saw the chance and took it. Anyway, Mick entertains himself in a similar way, observing other people, but through the mirror behind the bar and exchanging a comment or two with Len from time to time. Len, when something peaks his interest, provides a full-on commentary for few minutes until Mick decides he can’t bear the bad puns and tells him to shut up. He’s been quiet for a while now and more restless. Mick understands him because he’s been cooped up in his apartment for a few days and he’s itching for some action.

Len finally sighs heavily, turning his head to look at Mick and announcing, “I’m bored.”

Mick grunts in agreement- because, really what’s there more to say?

Len pouts and turns to take another look at the room. Mick turns to mimic his position, back to the bar and his beer bottle in hand. Len’s eyes fall on the girl standing next to him, a guy standing in front of him with his buddies and then on Mick. He’s got that mischievous look in his eyes. Mick raises his eyebrows and waits for his move.

His eyebrows rise up even more when Len quickly grabs the girl’s ass- and then squirms into Mick’s personal space. He schools his face into a mostly bland expression, heart hammering in his chest as Len casually takes his arm and slings it around his shoulders, then tucks himself in and against Mick’s side.

Mick… Mick thinks he has an epiphany. Must be it because nothing else explains the feeling he gets right then. The tingling at his fingertips and Len’s body heat and uh- oh, the little voice singing ‘ _you like this_ ’ in the back of his head. He was jealous before, that’s what was bugging him every time someone tried to make a move with Len.

He’s horrible. An asshole. Len’s love/sex life is none of his business. And, great, now he’s thinking about Len sleeping with someone. _No, Mick, you idiot, stop_.

While he’s having his internal mini-freak out, the girl turns around, a swear on her lips and her palm already raised when she takes in the sight before her. Her murderous expression turns sheepish, eyes running over Mick’s arm draped over Len’s shoulders and her mouth forming a silent ‘o’. Then she turns further, scowling at the unassuming guy in front of them- and slapping him.

The slap rings out through the bar, heads turning and attracting the attention of- would you look at that- her boyfriend.

“He grabbed my ass.” She explains while the poor guy is still recovering from her slap- and promptly gets decked by her boyfriend.

His head snaps to the side and he crashes into one of his friends and Mick watches the domino effect in action. A chain reaction of people bumping into each other, falling off their stools and raising their voices and fists.

The fight erupts quickly and Mick thinks his jaw might be hanging open. “Holy fuck,” he says finally, still looking out at the chaos that is consuming the scene before them. “You’re fucking brilliant.”

He feels Len shrug- which reminds him of their position- and hears him say “I know,” smugly.

The bartender jumps over the counter with a shout, disappearing into the mass of yelling and screaming bodies- thus leaving the bar unsupervised.

“Okay,” Len says, squirming out from under Mick’s arm, “you deal with the register, I’ll take the wallets.”

Mick- ignoring the lack of Len’s warmth against him- turns to look at him. “What? We’re doing this now?” He asks.

Len shrugs again, “Why not?”

And that’s a great question, so Mick makes a ‘that’s legit’ expression and copies the bartender’s jump over the counter.

The register is not even locked, so he just shoves handfuls of cash in his pockets, all the while checking where Len is. The little shit is just sauntering through the room, slipping his hands into pockets of fools that are decking it out for the reasons they don’t even know.

He wants to join in, ready to do so, when the sirens start to wail out front. In a moment, Len is next to him and tugging him out through the staff door.

They burst out into fresh night air and don’t speak until they’re good five blocks away. When they finally stop, Mick cracks up so hard he has to sit down. He’s still chuckling when Len plops down next to him and shoves a bottle into his hand. It’s some kind of a fancy hard liquor. He barks out a laugh.

“When the hell did you manage to swipe that?”

Len grins, “Magician never reveals all of his tricks.”

They get back to Mick’s place and climb up to the roof before they open the bottle. It’s something fruity; Mick remembers his cousin once told him that fruity stuff is the hardest because you don’t even taste the alcohol and Len agrees with that when he tells him because ‘ _it makes sense_ ’. They exchange the bottle between them, taking sips and sitting against the wall because they’re not those fools that get drunk and then fall off the roof.

There are no stars over Central City, but Mick has fruity booze, money and the only way this could get better is if Len was a little closer.


	13. The Scary Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a Halloween chapter? Yes. Is it a day late? Also yes- because I suck like that, but. Here you go.
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

Mick barely notices October arriving, but he couldn’t avoid its departure because Lisa dutifully informs him how many days it is until Halloween every time she sees him. She even called from Len’s phone on one occasion to remind him to “ _Buy lots of candy. Chocolate, too._ ”

So he’s sat in front of the TV, a bowl of red vines and other tooth-rotting stuff on the coffee table, on October 31st, when someone knocks at his door. Actually, not someone; it’s Len because there’s only one person that raps their knuckles on the door like that ( _read: dramatically_ ).

He opens them to find Len, his usual bland expression on his face, and Lisa, bursting with glee and dressed in a lion onesie. Mick can admit she’s adorable.

“Mick! Look!” She almost shouts, turning her back to him, “I’ve got a tail!”

Mick looks up at Len briefly- Len just shrugs, but there’s amusement shimmering underneath his mask. Lisa turns back around and grins up at him.

“Awesome, Lise. You gonna eat someone tonight?” He asks her.

She scrunches up her nose, “Gross. I’ll eat candy. You’re coming trick-or-treating with us?”

She’s looking at him hopefully and, _whatever_ , he doesn’t have anything else to do. “Yeah. I’ma get candy too, right?” He asks jokingly while shrugging on his jacket.

Lisa nods solemnly, “You can share mine.”

_She’s precious_.

“Thanks.”

  * ●●●●



They do a circle around a few nicer neighborhoods and Mick sees a group consisting of an older sibling leading a hoard of kids dressed in various colorful costumes every now and then. It’s actually not one group; there’s a couple of them, scattered all over, and every time Mick sees a kid dressed as a policeman or an Indian, he has to look down at Lisa, holding both his and Len’s hand, to remind himself that, _yeah, it’s them now_.

It keeps an open wound somewhere on him where he can’t reach and heal, but whenever Lisa squeals in delights because she got the candy she really loves, or Len cracks a joke about someone’s costume, it gets soothed a little bit more.

He’s not sure if seeing a guy similar to Len in a purple mesh shirt and skinny jeans and then thinking of Len in a purple mesh shirt and skinny jeans is making things better or worse. If he thinks about it more- yep, definitely worse, _there are children here_.

He’s very carefully trying to ignore his recent discovery ( _he’s not so good at it_ ) and things like that are not helping.

There are pumpkins on every front porch and yard, carved out faces glowing and casting weird shadows on the ground. He can see a TV showing some classic, Halloween horror movie through a window on almost every house they pass and some people even have skeletons or bats taped to their windows. One house has Christmas lights wrapped around the railing on the porch and around the windows and Lisa is staring at it with awed wonder when she sees it.

“Oh, it’s pretty.” She comments.

Len hums, “Yeah, it’s cool.”

Mick thinks the owners pulled out Christmas decorations a bit early, but grunts in agreement.

In the end, they have to buy another bag for candy because Lisa is a real candy magnet and old ladies melt at the sight of her.

They’re currently ringing yet another doorbell, Lisa standing up on the tips of her toes to reach it and then taking a step back while they wait. Mick hears the footsteps and notices a fat tabby cat sitting on the windowsill inside the house. It’s wearing an orange knitted sweater with pumpkins on it. Mick kind of a wants to pet it.

The door swings open to reveal an old lady that… looks exactly like the type of a person that would make a sweater for her cat. Now Mick’s wondering if she’s got more cats. And if she made sweaters for them too. Maybe this is her favorite cat.

“Oh, my! Look at you!” Lady coos at Lisa, who preens on attention. “What an adorable costume you’ve got.”

Lisa grins, “Thank you!”

“Let me guess, you’re a leo in the zodiac?” Lady asks her. Lisa shakes her head.

“Nope. But my brother is called Leonard!” She exclaims like it only now came to her mind and she connected it in that amazing way the kids usually do. Len jumps at the sudden change of lady’s focus.

“So you’re Leo!” She says happily.

Honestly, Mick had never thought about it. The idea of calling Len anything except Len hasn’t crossed his mind until now. Though, ‘Leo’ is such a generic name; Mick couldn’t relate it to Len no matter how hard he tried.

Len doesn’t scowl, but it’s a close call. “Actually-“ he starts in that smartass tone of voice and Mick wonders if he’ll witness Len roasting an old lady on her own porch on the Halloween because that’d turn this night really magical.

But lady cuts him off before he can get another word in. “Oh, you’re such a cupcake!” She coos at him, getting in his personal space and pinching his cheek.

Mick is moments away from bursting out in laughter at Len’s epically offended look and rosy cheeks- and then lady notices him as well.

“And you! My, aren’t you just adorable!” To Mick’s mortification, she proceeds to pinch his cheeks as well. He’s 20, for fuck’s sake; he knew he was too old for this shit and now this is happening. Lisa giggles, walking a fine line between chuckling and howling with laughter.

Thankfully, that catches old lady’s attention and she returns to cooing at Lisa before tipping a good portion of her candy bowl in Lisa’s bag and bidding them all goodbye. Mick can’t wait to get away. He’s pretty sure that if it could, the cat in the sweater would laugh at him.

 

Lisa is skipping ahead of them while they walked a bit behind and kept an eye on her. The silence is housing a neon-fucking-pink elephant. Len, because who else, breaks it.

“You’re _adorably_ quiet, Mick. Something on your mind?”

“Shut the fuck up, _cupcake_.”

  * ●●●●



The things are slowly winding down, the golden hour of candy and compliments nearing to an end and Mick and Len are leaned against the car, waiting for Lisa to ring her final doorbell.

They’re watching her walking up the driveway when a voice asks for their attention.

“What are you going as?” A boy, around six or seven asks, wrapped up in a fireman uniform costume. He gasps, eyeing them, “Are you boyfriends? Kiss!” He rushes out, then narrows his eyes at them, “Unless you’re cowards.”

And. And Mick forgot what _little dicks_ kids can be.

“Uh-“ He starts and stops when Len speaks up.

“Sure,” he says nonchalantly, either oblivious or not caring about the wide-eyed look Mick’s giving him. It’s unintentional, actually, so thankfully Mick has a moment to compose himself before Len looks at him. “Lay it on me, Mick.”

Mick tries to get the ‘Len, what the fuck? Are you okay?’ across without using words, but it’s hard when he’s already taking a step towards him.

He hopes he comes off as confident and cool about it- like Len is- because on the inside he’s _freaking the fuck out_.

How the hell was he supposed to do this? Does he just… cup his face? Where are his hands supposed to go? What about his tongue?

_Pretty sure friends don’t French kiss each other_ , a part of his brain not having a mental meltdown pipes up and yeah, that makes sense.

So he just places one palm on Len’s cheek and leans in.

As far as kisses go, this one is pretty tame, just lips pressed together.

It’s… not so much a surprise as it is unexpected. Mostly because Len lets him lead, a stark difference compared his usual behavior, all about responses to Mick, but not much of his own initiative.

_Maybe he hasn’t kissed before_ , that part of Mick’s brain pipes up again and Mick has to stop thinking or he’ll embarrass himself.  

It’s a dead night on the holiday of undead and Mick is making out with Len and it’s a magical night indeed.

  * ●●●●



They don’t mention it until Lisa is tucked up and clocked out for the night. Len is chewing on a string of red vine at the kitchen counter and Mick can’t let the question eat him up.

“So, the kiss-“ He, a dumbass who opened his mouth without a thought, stops because he doesn’t know what exactly he’s trying to ask here.

Len calmly chews and swallows before answering, eyes trained on the tabletop, “The kid.”

“The what?”

He looks up at Mick, “I wasn’t gonna let a brat call me a coward.” His confident looks weavers a little then, starts turning doubtful, “It bothers you?”

Mick shakes his head, “No.” Because it doesn’t; the kiss bothering him in a way that Len thinks bothers him is the farthest thing from the truth.

Len relaxes a bit, “Oh, okay. Because if it does-“

“I said it doesn’t bother me, Len. Besides, what’s a bit of making out between friends, right?” Mick plays it off as a joke, at least he tries, so he can ignore the twisting feeling in his chest.

Len hums, cracking a smile, “Right,” and keeps chewing on his red vine.

Mick leaves the kitchen, so he doesn’t get caught staring at his lips.


	14. The Good Times Are Killing Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, this gets violent at the end, so heads up?
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

Mick, despite being relatively new to the criminal world of Central City, gets sucked into it quickly. All the crews, permanent and occasional, are always looking for another pair of hands, more muscle, more eyes, more people that can get the job done. And getting out alive from a job with Lewis Snart apparently makes for a hell of a reputation.

Not to mention that unless you fuck up the first time, it’s likely Snart will call you back in. Mick thinks about it like an eagle sinking its talons into a fish and not letting it go until it’s dead and devoured. It’s disturbing, but he hasn’t found anything that fits better yet.

Lewis had also started taking Len to more serious jobs and the higher risk the more strung out Len seems. His father is the one making the plans, but Len has the eye for the details, angles, and backups. Something that, according to Len, Lewis’ plans lack. They have their own twists and turns- Lewis wouldn’t be so high in the food chain of Central City if he did half-assed plans- but Len’s brain works beyond that. Mick doesn’t know how he does it, but obviously, nobody else does either; their problem is that they don’t trust Len when he tells them about it. And that makes Len even more pissed off than he usually is.

Len told him that he usually works “behind the curtain”, so everyone thinks that the whole plan is Lewis’ making. They don’t listen to Len when he warns them of something and God knows he’s too smart to try and correct his father. Even if neither of them says it out loud, they both know that there is probably nothing Len fears more than Lewis Snart.

Mick sees him across the room, jaw clenched, eyes cold and arms crossed as Lewis rattles on about the plan for the fifth time because he “wants everything to run smoothly”. The rest of the crew is starting to get bored as well, but know enough about Lewis’ reputation to keep their mouths shut.

But he too sees the tense posture of his son and pulls him aside once he’s done talking. Mick watches as his hand closes over Len’s shoulder, fingers digging in ( _like talons_ ) and though Len’s expression doesn’t change, Mick knows it must hurt. His stomach twists, fingers fumbling with the ropes he was supposed to pack up. He keeps glancing at them every once in a while, keeping an eye on them- until he looks over once and Lewis pulls Len into the storage room. The door closes and Mick’s skin crawls with the need to go over there and get Len the hell away from his father. He stays put.

He knows Lewis doesn’t want any hitches in his plans, so he does what he was supposed to do and stays on high alert.

Lewis comes back a few minutes later, but Len stays behind and Mick makes some bullshit lie about needing more duct tape, so he can slip in and check on him.

He’s leaning against one of the shelves, arms still crossed and hands clutching at his upper arms. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing in deeply. There is a bruise already forming red high on his left cheekbone.

He cracks his eyes open to squint at Mick, “He disagrees with me disagreeing with him,” he says sorely even though the words make it seem like he’s cracking a joke.

Mick doesn’t respond, but steps closer and takes the hold of Len’s jaw with one hand and tips his head to the side, so he can examine the bruise better. Len stays quiet, his eyes dull. It’s the same ‘lights on, curtains drawn’ look he had back in the juvie when Lewis visited him.

Len shakes off his hand, “Let’s go, we’re moving out in 10.”

Mick doesn’t know what to think about so that he doesn’t march out and break Lewis’ hands.

  * ●●●●



He’s not exactly sure what the flaw in the plan was, but it all goes tits up right around the time they were supposed to be getting out. Len doesn’t look surprised.

He’s working through the wiring on the door lock- one of those fancy digital locks that need the code that _they don’t know_ \- and breathing harshly through his nose. His teeth are gritted, but he doesn’t flinch at every gunshot that rings out. Someone on the crew had a _bright idea_ to bring a gun to the job and everything got fucked as soon as the first guard went down.

“Hurry up, Leonard.” Lewis scowls, hovering above Len and not being of much help.

Len responds in kind, voice cold, “If anyone here can open this door faster, they can go right ahead.”

Mick is leaned against the wall next to the door, the alarm making his ears ring. Nothing short of a shout can be heard above the blaring, so Mick is lucky to notice a shadow of a person before the guard rounds the corner. Mick is technically standing behind him, so he grabs a hold of his wrist and kicks the underside of his knee to make him buckle and then slams his head into the wall before anyone else can get shot. He had about enough of that for one day.

Len only glances at him once after that, then violently tugs at one of the wires, peels off the rubber and touches it to the wire in his other hand. The lock lights up green with a beep and the door clicks open.

Lewis pushes past him, nearly tipping him over, and others follow. Mick and Len are the last ones to leave, moving quickly through the hallways after the rest of the crew.

“You okay?” Mick manages to whisper; loud enough that Len can hear, but not so loud that the others can.

Len scowls, “Just peachy.” _Which means no_.

In fact, Mick doubts anyone is okay. They’ve gotten out just by a hair and one of the guys didn’t make it; Mick was on the other side of the building when it happened so he doesn’t know what exactly happened. Not to mention that they haven’t gotten everything they came here for.

But despite that, the guys are in a surprisingly good mood. As soon as they arrive at the warehouse, they climb out of the van and start whooping. They’re cocky and loud and one of them pulls a gun out of his waistband to shoot at the sky.

Lewis moves so fast Mick almost misses it; he spins the guy on his heels and then rams his face into the hood of the van. The noise startles everyone into silence.

“ _You fucking ignorant moron_.” Lewis hisses, throwing him into the side of the van and gripping the collar of his shirt in one hand. The guy, already disoriented from the first hit, doesn’t see the fist coming. Lewis punches him once, twice, three times, landing one brutal hit after another with no sign of stopping.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh is uncomfortably loud, a garbled, cut off breath and a yell here and there making it worse as the crew starts sharing worried glances. They’re scared for themselves, not the guy.

Len has his eyes glued on Lewis, eyes blank, devoid of emotion. He looks like he’s in a trance; like he’s not even there, but on the other side, like he’s so overwhelmed with terror that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Mick hates that look on him.

He nudges his elbow against Len’s, fingers itching to interlace with his. He wants to take Len away from there, wants to erase that look off his face and make sure to never let him feel like that.

He wants Lewis Snart to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, I had an idea and... Is there anyone potentially interested in joining a Coldwave discord group? It's a writing group and I need friends who will gush with me about Len and Mick.
> 
> Express your opinion in the comments. :)


	15. Closeted In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

They’ve been doing small jobs every once in a while. A bar full of people that go home with their pockets empty, stores where door gets picked open and registers and shelves swiped clean; Len refers to them as test jobs, triple checking everything and thinking of every single detail because neither of them can afford themselves to get locked up now. They’re both legal and getting caught would land them both in jail, not juvie. And since they already have criminal records, Mick doubts the sentences would be short enough that they could leave Lisa on her own.

So Len plans and calculates and makes notes, but sometimes even he has moments of ‘ _fuck it_ ’ and ‘ _let’s do this for fun_ ’.

“Seriously?”

Len shrugs at him, already ascending the stairs of most over the top kitschy porch Mick saw in his life. It’s made of marble, as far as Mick can tell, and decorated- Mick doesn’t believe he’s saying this, but- with gold. He swears. It’s got pillars and golden colored ornaments that Mick thinks are made by baroque example.

Mick follows after him, watches as he picks the lock with practiced, smooth movements and then they’re in.

The house is exactly what Mick expected it to be considering the state of that porch; kitschy, shiny and so ugly Mick can barely look at it. There are _feather scarves_ hanging all over the damn place.

Len snorts at the grimace he makes.

“Aesthetics aside, I bet at least half of the things here is worth grabbing.” He says and that’s how the tour begins. Mick combs through the ground floor; kitchen, a dining room, living room, bathroom, and a freaking _saloon_. And Len’s right, there is a lot of things worth grabbing. He doesn’t take anything because if he’s right, they’re gonna come back later with bags to actually be able to carry all this stuff, so he climbs the stairs (one of those fancy, massive stairwells that have an equally fancy railing on both sides) to the first floor to find Len.

They meet up in the hallway. Len seems to strongly agree with Mick in terms of house décor.

“You found anything?” Mick asks him. Len scrunches up his nose (it’s strangely adorable; Mick is still not sure how to cope with that).

“Yes. A ton of jewelry, feather scarves and a decision that these people need a fashion intervention.” Len counts on his fingers, face expressionless except a flicker of distaste when he mentions feather scarves. Mick snorts in response and follows him into another room, bedroom as it turns out.

They go through the drawers, tossing out a comment or two if they find something interesting. In one moment, Len lifts his hand to show Mick a pair of red, fuzzy handcuffs. His cheeks turn a faint pink color. “Right,” he says and delicately tosses the cuffs back into a drawer- like he’s throwing a used tissue in a trashcan. Mick’s stomach twists at his awkwardness, all fondness, and he chuckles.

Len makes a face at him and flops down on the edge of the big, queen bed. Mick sees his expression turning panicked as he loses his balance and collapses backward.

“Mick,” he says, practically swallowed by the comforter and mattress, “come here.”

Mick raises his eyebrows in amusement, but inches closer to the bed all the same. He carefully sits on the edge- and sinks into the mattress. He ends up mirroring Len’s position; laying on his back and his legs hanging over the edge.

“Holy crap,” he voices, feeling like he’s laying on a cloud. He turns his head to the side, but he can’t see Len- that’s how deep in the mattress they are.

Len hums in agreement. “At least they know how to choose a good mattress.”

Mick can’t disagree with that. He wants to voice as much, but as soon as he opens his mouth, a door opens downstairs.

He can’t see Len, but he knows he tensed up as much as Mick did. They scramble to their feet (they have to roll over on their fronts to be able to get up) and it would be hilarious if they weren’t about to get _fucked_. They barrel towards the door, but then Len makes an ‘ _oh, fuck_ ’ face and backpedals into Mick.

“Stairwell,” he mouths to Mick, eyes running over the room to find an exit. Mick’s eyes fall on a huge wardrobe and he pulls Len along on his way towards it.

They both fit- _it’s really huge_ , Mick wasn’t overreacting- and it’s clearly woman’s closet. It’s full of long coats and shoes and smells like a flowery perfume, thick and sweet. Mick takes one side and Len takes the other.

There’s a murmur of voices and footsteps nearing the room with each second. Mick hears the door squeaking as they’re fully opened.

“…did we come back?” Gets yelled from the hallway.

“Oh, it’ll be just a second, dear!” The voice responds, heels clicking on the floor and Mick can see Len’s eyes widening in panic as the door on his side crack open as a beam of light slips in.

“Hurry up! We’re already running late!” A voice calls back, slightly annoyed and Len takes a chance as the woman outside pauses to respond to practically leap to Mick’s side.

“I just need to find my coat!”

They’re standing chest to chest, but they’re both looking over Len’s shoulders to see a hand reaching in and picking through the coats on the rack. Mick thinks Len is holding his breath.

“A coat? You’ve already got a coat on!”

Mick and Len glance at each other quickly and then Len presses himself _right into_ Mick because the hand almost skims his back. Mick tries to think of something utterly gross because this _so_ not the time for his libido to make a surprise appearance.

Len gets to the tips of his toes and Mick settles his hand on his hips to help him keep balance without a thought. He can feel Len’s hipbones under his thumbs and _ugh, think of something gross, Mick_.

The woman outside huffs, “Not that one! The fur one!”

Something tickles Mick’s temple and it’s… it’s a feather scarf. _Because of course it is_. Len looks just as unimpressed by that. Then he turns to look over his shoulder again and lights up. He tentatively takes a hold of a fluffy, furry sleeve. He holds it out to the hand, quickly withdrawing his own when it snags on the sleeve and pulls the coat out of the closet. They can hear a pleased exclamation from outside.

The door closes and footsteps become fainter with each step. They stay in dark and silence for few more moments, to make sure they’re alone and then Len relaxes, melting into Mick and shaking with laughter. He knocks his forehead on Mick’s shoulder lightly and takes in a gasp of air every few seconds. Mick can’t keep a straight face after that and cracks up as well, one hand coming up to rest on the back of Len’s head and tangling with soft, silky curls.

Len’s hands rest on his sides and it leaves Mick slightly breathless.


	16. Walking Over A Rope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is short-ish and pretty boring. Sorry.
> 
> Comment and (hopefully) enjoy! :)

Things are never quiet in Central City. Noise pollution, rumors, arguments, agreements. Len said the whole city is distracting itself with mindless babble from the fact it’s rotting from the inside. He said it like he doesn’t care, like it’s just another one of those things he sees, but can’t be bothered by- but Mick knows him well enough to know he’s not indifferent to it. The city being the way it is feels like a rope tied as a noose around their necks.

Lewis’ rope is tied as a leash on a dog and it’s in the hands of Santinis. He probably sees it as a golden chain, with how eager he seems to indulge on their every whim. He’s hoping to climb the social ladder, no doubt, so he’s trying to show his value.

“He doesn’t seem to notice they’re gonna eat him whole once they’re done playing.” Len says from their corner in Saints and Sinners. The place is a bit of a hole, but it’s dark, everybody mostly minds their own business and they let them in even though Mick starts fights on an almost nightly basis.

He’s tipping his fingers on the table top, the label on his beer peeled off and more than half of the bottle still full. Mick follows his eyes to the TV above the bar, the news talking about another robbery that ended in manslaughter. The Santinis never did know how to get away clean.

Mick hums. He couldn’t care less about Lewis Snart, but it’s Len that’s gonna get pulled in eventually. And Mick has a bad feeling about that.

  * ●●●●



It’s the third gig they’re doing with Lewis for the Santinis when everything goes south. They’re robbing a warehouse, just about done, when the lights flicker on and the thugs for the Darbinyan family bust in. It is pretty obvious that neither of those two groups is particularly good at negotiating (except Len, but he’s not gonna do anything with Lewis there) and the encounter ends with a shower of bullets.

Mick thinks they have some dumb luck going for them; while almost everyone got shot, most of the hits were only grazes and they did get out with most of the loot. Len’s glowering at the dashboard in the passenger seat next to him, the noise from the back of the van grating on his nerves like it is on Mick’s. He’s breathing through his nose, jaw clenched tight and eyes focused up front. Mick’s ears are still ringing with the gunshots.

“You good?” He asks into silence. The others can’t hear them from the back.

Len swallows, a hand clasped around his upper arm coming away red. Len wrinkles his nose at it, “Just peachy.”

Mick’s stomach twists. When the hell did he get shot?

He jerks the wheel sharply to the left to make a U-turn, but Len leaps before he can go through with it and rights it again. His hand leaves a bloody print on it. The van sways dangerously with a squeak of tires and there are panicked and confused shouts from the back, a few curses too.

“Shut the fuck up!” Mick yells in response to all of that and turns to send a quick glare at Len. “You need a hospital.”

“I need someone to patch me up. Not necessarily a hospital.” Len responds calmly and now Mick grits his teeth. _Stubborn bastard_.

“You’re bleeding.” Mick points out.

“So is more than a half of the crew.” Len points out in turn.

Mick makes a frustrated noise in his throat. _I don’t give a shit about them_.

“Let’s just go to the rendezvous point,” Len instructs, hand gripping his upper arm again, “Santinis have a guy.”

_Santinis can go fuck themselves_. They’re the reason this happened in the first place.

“Fine.”

  * ●●●●



“What the hell’s going on here?” Mick looks up when the door opens, Lewis sauntering in with the rest of the crew. Now everyone’s here.

“Your boy took a bullet,” the doctor, _Santinis’ guy_ , says, “he’s lucky it missed the artery.”

He’s holding Len’s upper arm, leaned in close to see better, and putting in the stitches. The bullet went clean through, missed the bone and everything, but the bleeding it caused was still enough to set Mick on edge.

Lewis, if his expression is anything to go by, doesn’t think it’s such good news. Doesn’t seem to care, in fact. He harrumphs, dismissing Len with a glance. Mick wants to ram his head into a fucking wall.

“The rest?” Lewis asks. Mick bets he has no idea what their names are.

“A little worse for wear, but overall good.” Doc responds, pulling a stitch through fast enough to make Len flinch. It’s barely, but Mick notices. Lewis is not paying attention.

Another guy enters the room, holding his right shoulder. “Hey, doc, I need you to fix me up.” He comes in close and Mick sees him reaching down to haul Len out of the seat.

“Wait for your fucking turn.” He growls before the guy can go through with it, giving him a glare.

The guy backs off and Len shoots him a look that might seem blank to anyone else, but Mick sees it for what it is- surprise and panic.

Mick doesn’t understand why until he catches Lewis looking at him with calculating eyes.

  * ●●●●



Len’s poking at the gauze wrapped around his arm, complaining it itches. Mick snorts and it’s like it snaps Len out of his funk and into a more serious mode. He looks up at Mick.

“He’s gonna get fixated now.” He says. He presses his lips into a thin line, eyes fixed to the table top and fingers drumming on the edge of it.

Mick knows it’s not an ideal situation he got them in, but, “It could be worse. He’s got nothing on me.” He shrugs.

Len wrinkles his nose, “It doesn’t matter if he’s got nothing, he’s gonna set you up, or make something up. He’s gonna-“

“Len. You’re smarter than him. I’m sure you’ll see his move miles away. And if end up in jail, you’re gonna bust me out.”

Len scowls. “It’s not about getting locked up. I can’t do anything if you’re dead and murder has always been Lewis’ favorite go-to.”

“Your dad’s not gonna kill me.”

Len’s finger tapping gets more erratic before it completely stops. “He better not.”


	17. The Good Times Are Killing Us Pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, a mention of rape in this one so tread carefully.
> 
> Comment and enjoy! :)

Mick starts wondering if Len overreacted with his prediction of Mick’s murder- and then the Santini family meeting happens.

As Mick understands, the Santinis organize a meeting/dinner a month before Christmas every year to talk business, so the Christmas is strictly Christmas themed. Though, Mick has trouble imagining any of them talking about something that’s not murder, money, or power.  Len agrees it’s disturbing.

They all end up in a Santini owned restaurant, family members and non-blood related mob members included. Mick is bored out of his mind. Dinner parties are not his thing; he had to put on a _dress shirt_.

But Len seems to be invested in the conversation going around them. He’s sitting two seats to left across from Mick, next to Lewis, and while it looks like he’s just eating, his eyes are focused on the table, and he’s listening and catching pieces of conversations all around them.

The black market is all good, drugs smuggling is all good, money washing is all good- it’s what Mick remembers from everything that’s being discussed.

The most recent shootout with the Darbinyans is the fresh topic on the table when one of the guards barges in. the door bangs against the wall, effectively cutting off the conversation and drawing the attention to the flustered guard. He’s breathing hard and his eyes are wild.

Everyone stands up before he can even say a word.

Mick exchanges a look with Len, both of them mildly confused. Mildly confused until the window shatters and the guy next to Mick goes down with a violent jerk. Someone shouts and Mick drops down on the floor with more bodies hitting it with dull thuds. He gets on his hands and knees, heart beating violently in his chest, and looks for Len.

Len is nowhere to be found.

Mick swears, itching to set something on fire, and crawls behind the bar. The glass is shattering all around him, bottles and mirrors and light bulbs bursting above him. He risks a peek to survey the situation and almost gets shot in the face. He falls back on his ass and bumps into someone. He turns to take in Len’s face, speckled with blood.

A rock lifts off his chest. “Are you okay?”

Len nods mutely. “You?”

“Yep. What the hell do we do now?” He asks, referring to the chaos around them.

“Wait it out.” Len says firmly, wiping his face.

They stay very still and very quiet for the remaining of the shootout. Well, it’s more of a massacre- the Santinis are not doing much except swearing and panicking while _whoever_ picks them off like sitting ducks.

Then something catches on fire, smoke filling up space and everyone clears out- except Mick and Len because they’re stuck. Until the smoke thickens out, they can’t go anywhere because they’ll be seen and consequentially shot.

And Mick, because his brain is a bastard that just has the worst timing, zones out. The smoke curls around him, claws and pulls at him, and he’s 16 again, matches gripped in his hands as flames eat up everything he ever knew.

It’s only a brief flash because Len accidentally nudges him. He’s coughing, his eyes glassy from irritation the smoke causes.

Mick spies an exit to his right, and a broken glass near his feet. He grabs Len’s hand, throws the glass over his head, to his left, and pulls Len to the right. Distraction provided, they scramble for the door. Mick might be holding Len’s hand a bit too tight, but he doesn’t want to risk losing him in this mess.

They run through the hallways to break out into fresh air at the backdoor parking lot. Their entrance startles a few figures, but everyone more or less relaxes when they recognize them. Lewis narrows his eyes at them and Mick realizes he’s still holding Len’s hand. _Fuck_.

He lets go because both of them have to catch their breath and cough out the smoke in their lungs.

  * ●●●●



The party is clearly over and everyone, fuming, starts going on their merry way. Mick is about to leave as well when Lewis takes him aside. Mick wonders if this is when the murder happens but somehow doubts it; he thinks Lewis would put more thought into it instead of dragging him aside to pop him in the dark.

He stops suddenly so not to run into Lewis when the man turns to face him. He scrutinizes Mick from head to toe.

“How long have you known my son?”

Mick shrugs, “Since the first job I did with you,” he lies.

Lewis hums. He looks to the side and Mick follows his line of sight to Len, leaned against the side of Lewis’ car.

“So he’s your type?”

Mick whips his head back to him so fast his neck aches. “What?”

Lewis scratches his cheek, “He your type? You know, we could come to an agreement here.”

“What?” Mick repeats because he has no idea what’s happening here.

“I don’t care who you roll in the sheets with, kid. Just saying there are other ways to pay you that you look like you’d enjoy.”

Mick’s gonna be sick. He’s gonna- he’s gonna murder someone. He’s gonna strangle Lewis Snart on the spot. He’s gonna throw up.

“No.” He scowls.

Lewis blinks, like he didn’t expect Mick would refuse his offer to- _ugh, Mick’s going to be sick_.

“Oh, are you sure?” He tries once more.

“I prefer money over rape.” Mick tries to keep it together, but he practically spits out the words. He can’t get out of there fast enough. If he stayed a moment longer, he’d bash Lewis’ skull on the pavement.

  * ●●●●



Len is ranting about who knows what, pacing the length in front of the couch and Mick finds it impossible to forget about what Lewis said last night.

“You’d tell if something happens?” He cuts Len off mid-rant, unable to stop himself.

Len stops pacing to blink at him. “What?”

Mick swallows. “If something bad happens, you’d tell me?”

“Is this something about your talk with Lewis yesterday?” Len asks suspiciously.

Mick shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. Just, you’d say if something bad happens to you?”

Len swallows, “How bad?”

Mick hates that question; because it implies something bad had already happened. Maybe not the same kind of bad, but it guts Mick all the same. “ _Bad_ bad.” He says numbly.

“You’d tell me? Right?” He insists.

Len frowns, but he nods all the same, “Yeah, of course.”

Mick has the common sense to know Len most likely wouldn’t say a word, but has to take small comfort where he can.


	18. It Comes And Goes (And Sometimes It Stays)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is slightly bittersweet.
> 
> Comment and enjoy!

Lewis finds a new victim.

Her name is Claire, Len tells him. She’s nice and funny and she braids her hair if she asks, Lisa tells him. She’s smitten. Len says it’s because she didn’t really have a mother figure since… well, ever. Her mother was out of the picture before even Len could find his footing, much like his own, and Len- later Mick as well- has been her only parental figure for the biggest part of her early childhood.

So whenever Len and Lisa came over, Mick had to listen to Lisa gushing about Claire with that childish glee.

And with the same childish innocence and hope, she bonded with her. Len was much more skeptical- but also much less likely to warm up to someone after even a few months of living with them. Mick likes to think he’s an exception to that particular Len trait.

But Len was right to keep Claire in arms’ length because six months in- Claire takes off. She gets fed up with Lewis’ bullshit, packs her stuff and runs. And leaves behind two very unhappy Snarts.

Two unhappy Snarts that are currently in his apartment.

Len is furious, jaw set tight and eyes cold, screaming bloody murder as he gently pets Lisa’s hair from where she’s crying into his stomach. She’s sobbing, taking in large gulps of air and hugging Len’s middle like she’s afraid he’s gonna evaporate if she lets go.

Mick is not sure what he should do. He feels angry for them, and his chest hurts with each sob that wrecks the otherwise silent apartment.

He clenches his fists by his sides and breathes in deeply.

Len’s glaring at the floor, the crease between his eyebrows getting deeper as the minutes tick by, even as he speaks to Lisa with a hushed, soft tone.

Mick wants to smooth it out with his thumb, he wants to wrap them both in a blanket and just get everyone else to fuck off and give them a break.

  * ●●●●



Len is pacing through the apartment, like a caged animal and he looks ready to snap. His eyes are red and he’s pale like he hadn’t slept for too long.

Mick stands up- Len doesn’t even notice the light shuffle of chair legs on the floor- and gently takes him by the elbow.

“Get your boots, jacket and take a walk around the neighborhood.” He instructs him and nudges him towards the door.

Len makes a noise of protest, twisting around to look at him. “But Lisa-“

“Knows how to speak. If she needs something, she’ll tell me.”

She’s sleeping, almost passed out with exhaustion from crying and Len’s been vigil since be bundled her up into three spare blankets Mick had.

Len huffs, but obliges and pulls on his boots and the jacket. He turns to Mick once more when he’s at the door.

Mick rolls his eyes and speaks before Len can get a word out. “I’ll call if anything happens. Now go.”

Len scrunches up his nose at him and leaves with a final glance towards Mick’s bedroom- that by now progressed to being mostly Len and Lisa’s since Mick falls asleep on the couch more often than not.

Mick breathes out and sets to washing the dishes- he was halfway through when they arrived. He’s lost deep in thought when a hitched sigh shakes him out of his musing.

Lisa is standing a few feet away from him, one of the blankets around her shoulders and dragging on the floor behind her. She’s looking around with a worried frown.

“Where is Lenny?” She asks.

Mick dries off his hands in a dishcloth and walks towards her. “He went to take a walk.”

He crouches so they’re at the same eye level. Even though she’s 11 (Mick can’t believe it’s been 3 years already since he met Lisa), she’s still fairly small. His mind flashes back to Len when Mick first met him and how tiny he was at 14. It feels like it was ages ago.

“You want me to call him to come back?”

Lisa shakes her head and gnaws at her bottom lip.

“Okay. Something else- _ompf_ ” Mick cuts off as Lisa hugs him suddenly, almost tipping him over.

“Lise?”

“You’re not gonna leave, right?” Her voice is muffled y his shirt, but he understands it perfectly. His heart shatters.

“What? Of course not. Where did that come from?” He asks, regaining his balance and wrapping his arms around her.

“Because everyone leaves.” She responds miserably.

“Aw, Lise. I’m not going anywhere.” He says. Their whole lives are a mess, but he’ll be damned if he messes them up even more.

“Promise?” She wriggles so she can look at him with earnest eyes, “Because Lenny didn’t like Claire, but he likes you and I just want Lenny to be happy so he stays. And you’re nice to us and you don’t hurt Lenny and Lenny is happy when you’re here because he loves you. And you promise to stay?”

She blurts it out so quickly Mick barely catches it, but when the words register, they cut through him like knives.

He swallows thickly, “Yeah, I promise.” He says and hugs her once more.

  * ●●●●



He’s surfing through the channels when Len gets back. He still looks like the whole situation is still gutting him, but he’s not climbing the walls with it.

He blinks at Mick and Lisa clocked out on top of him.

“Something happened?” He asks, toeing off his boots and slinging his jacket over a chair.

“Nah,” Mick says, automatically, rearranging his legs so Len can squeeze himself on the other side of the couch. He curls himself in the corner, throwing a blanket over his shoulders and another one over Mick and Lisa.

He closes his eyes and leans his head on the backrest. Mick wants to kiss him, but that’s given by now. The “Kiss him,” chant in his head became as normal as fiddling with his lighter in his pocket.

“You’re thinking too loud, Mick.” Len says and startles him.

“So are you,” Mick responds while his heart hammers in his chest, “go to sleep already.”

Len’s lips twitch into a grin. And Mick knows that Lisa is worrying for nothing; he couldn’t leave even if he wanted to.


	19. Holidays season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lo and behold! It has been 84 years, but I updated at last!
> 
> This is fairly short and nothing much happens, but-
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Christmas comes and goes in a flurry of twinkling lights and too many sweets. Lewis ends up in a lock-up for an assault two weeks before the winter break starts, and seeing as it’s not his first time behind the bars, the sentence is looking to about a month long. Which means that Len and Lisa more or less spend every hour of every day at Mick’s.

He’s not complaining, but-

“Would it kill you to put the dirty dishes in the sink?”

Len blinks at him innocently, slurping his hot chocolate. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, the dishes crawled out of the sink on their own?” He asks him sarcastically.

Len shrugs, “Hey, it’s the time of the year when an old guy in red comes down your chimney and leaves you presents. Everything is possible.”

“Right,” Mick responds. He thinks, _he’s gonna let it pass this time_. But then again-

He hurls a wet dishtowel at Len’s head, noting his cry of surprise and disgust with satisfaction, and stomps away.

  * ●●●●



It occurs to him- one particular Wednesday morning, when he’s making his way into the bathroom and steps on a wet towel on the floor, notes that fruity smell of kiddie shampoo in the air, and notices three different toothbrushes in three different cups on the sink- that he’s got roommates. Apartment-mates.

It seems like it should be a big thing, something important, but it’s too early so he just flings his now-wet-socks in the hamper and goes to brush his teeth.

  * ●●●●



Len is- to Mick’s surprise- surprisingly messy. Or, more correctly, he has a strange system or organized disorganization that Mick can’t wrap his mind around no matter how much he tries.

“No, Mick, you’re doing it wrong,” Len informs him when he goes to put one of the cups into the cupboard. The cup in question is green and Mick had just set it between a light blue one and a dark pastel-y green one.

Len takes it from him and sets it between the red and brown one. Because that apparently makes more sense. He’s starting to regret his success in getting Len to clean up the kitchen after they ran out of clean dishes a week prior.

“Right, sorry,” he says, shaking his head and watching Len sorting through their dishes with impressive sense of purpose considering it looks like he’s just grabbing things randomly.

He takes a white plate, turns it in his hands and drums the fingers of his right hand on it once before going to set it on a stack of three yellow, two black, and two orange plates. (All the dishes came with the apartment when he bought it when he first got out of the juvie and were already mismatched, but Lisa freaking loves them.)

Mick thinks it’s a Thing. He knows there was always a full set of knives and forks and spoons for one of his aunts when she came over for lunch or dinner. She wasn’t stuck up or anything, didn’t even use the majority of them, but everything just had to be there. It made her feel better, or something like that. Mick doesn’t really understand it- and he knows there was more to it- but it was always a Thing nobody questioned too much.

Maybe this is a Thing for Len.

“Where do I put the blue one?” He asks.

  * ●●●●



Lisa has nightmares sometimes. Mick knows because she wakes them all up with a scream and a sob and then Len calls out “Can we get a glass of milk?” after a moment of quiet whispering that Mick tries not to eavesdrop on.

But he gets a glass of milk and brings it into the room and waits until Lisa, clinging to Len, drinks it. And then they all go back to sleep. They don’t make a fuss about it, but it’s obvious that Len pampers her a bit more the next day.

Mick has nightmares too. Or dreams; because nightmares are supposed to scare you and Mick is not scared of the fire licking the backs of his eyelids when he slips into sleep and smoke fogging his mind once he wakes up. He doesn’t make a peep, but Len somehow always knows, sticking close and making sure Mick doesn’t get lost in the flames of the stove or sparks flying in the garage.

And Len… well. Len has nightmares too. He doesn’t wake up screaming, doesn’t spend the night staring at the ceiling and then having dark bags under his eyes the next morning. The way he has nightmares is so Len that Mick could laugh at the ridiculousness of it if he wasn’t flooded with anger at the silence with which Len takes it all. It takes some time, but Mick catches on; he knows that ‘curtains drawn’, cut off look in Len’s eyes, and he knows it’s reserved for that rotting pile of flesh that is their father.

And Mick knows that a glass of milk or someone trailing after him the whole day isn’t going to help.

  * ●●●●



There are days when Mick really hates that he revealed his hair braiding skills to Lisa.

“Ow, _Miiiiick_ ,” Lisa whines dramatically, leaning her head back and not helping Mick with combing her hair.

“Hold still,” he instructs, setting one of his hands on her head to lead it into a proper position again. He’s already so done with this and he had barely started.

“But you’re pulling my hair.”

“You wanna comb it yourself?”

“…no.”

_Mick thought so_.

He shakes his head and proceeds. Lisa is back in her ‘braids’ phase and Mick honestly can’t tell if that or the ‘curling iron’ phase was worse. He remembers the fear whenever he had to curl one of the strands near her ears and neck and thinks, _yep, curling iron was worse_.

Not that this is much better.

Len is sprawled over the couch, observing them with a smug expression that’s bordering on drowsy. He’s gotten out of the bed just for food- and that barely, Mick practically had to drag him out- and now he’s ready to pass out again.

Mick can feel his eyes on him the whole time while he’s braiding Lisa’s hair, and he looks over just in time to catch this look in Len’s eyes. His face is relaxed, a rare occurrence, and body almost melted into the couch cushions. His eyes are soft; there’s no other way for Mick to describe them. Soft and unguarded.

And Mick thought he couldn’t be more whipped.

As soon as Len notices him looking, he startles.

“I’m going to bed,” he says, rising to his feet and fleeing from the room with a flush rising on his cheeks.

_What the heck is that about?_


	20. The Way It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about this.
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Mick doesn’t know what happens. Well, he does, reality-wise, but some magic, otherworldly, mystic- wise crap, the planets must have aligned, or someone on the crew picked a four-leaf clover because the job doesn’t go sideways. It runs so smoothly, it might as well be goddamned buttered.

Mick takes a look across the table. Everyone is laughing, drinking even though they’re more than halfway to being shitfaced already, and he catches Len’s eye on the other side. He’s smirking into his beer, pleased because his plan worked fantastically. He’s a subdued version of himself when it’s only him and Mick, celebrating a job gone well, but his eyes are glinting in the fuzzy light of the bar.

Even Lewis seems less… _Lewis_.

Especially an hour later, when they’re walking out of there (those of them that still can walk, that is) and Lewis stops Len from walking ahead with an outstretched hand. Mick, off to the side, tenses, just as Len does, while the rest of them keeps on walking, oblivious.

“Son,” Lewis starts solemnly, swaying slightly. He’s drunk, it’s clear as day, and Mick wonders what now. Len looks like he’s thinking along the same lines, asking himself, wondering what could have possibly happened in this short time-span to rub Lewis the wrong way. Then Lewis places a hand on Len’s shoulder, heavily- if the way Len slightly sags under sudden weigh is anything to go by- and leans in. “Son,” he repeats, “good job. I’m proud of you.” He slurs, pats Len on the shoulder and continues walking.

Len is frozen on the spot, eyes big and confused and glassy, following Lewis down the parking lot. He turns his head to exchange a stare with Mick, a confirmation that this really happened, and then goes back to staring after his father.

It’s wrong. Mick can feel it in his bones. And he hates being the pessimistic asshole between the two of them, but that look on Len’s face? That’s just gonna get him hurt because people like Lewis don’t change. If he could hurt Len before, he’s gonna do it again.

  * ●●●●



Their luck doesn’t run out. The fact keeps them all on their toes- and their pockets full.

Len starts to talk to the crew more. Giving orders, adjusting plans, doing his thing. It suits him. He’s in his element, all the talk and show and that clever mind of his put to good use. And he loves it too, Mick can tell. It’s in the way how he stands taller, more confident, and how you can see it in his eyes that he’s damn smart and he knows it.

Mick sticks to the shadows, watching his back and, fuck, admiring because this is Len, climbing up the ladder, finally, and because this is just a start and Mick wants to be able to compare this to how Len’s gonna look once he has the whole damn world under his feet.

  * ●●●●



They keep doing jobs. They keep going well. Lewis is still playing at something.

Mick has no proof, no evidence for that, but the guy like him doesn’t just get a sudden change of heart out of nowhere. And the worst part of it all is that Len’s so damn confused. Mick gets it; when he was a kid, before all the shit, all he wanted was to make his dad proud. He just wanted to connect with him, no matter how bullheaded they both were, or how much of an ass his dad was the older Mick got. But he remembers his dad taking him and his siblings to a fair, teaching them baseball, he remembers the good stuff.

He guesses that Len didn’t really have a lot of that. And he wants it. Bad enough that he’s either forgetting or ignoring the fact it’s Lewis. It’ the same bastard that spilled his blood and broke his bones for things that were out of Len’s control, that weren’t even his fault when Len was just a kid. And Mick doesn’t know what to do.

Len’s struggling, admitted. He doesn’t know what to do with the positive attention and the good moods that Lewis apparently has in freaking stock. He wary, but so fucking _hopeful_ that it hurts Mick.

He’s got this look on his face, whenever Lewis is being even remotely nice to him, like a- like he’s two seconds away from bursting into tears because he doesn’t understand it, but he wants it. Mick thought he hated him before, but it’s nothing compared to what he feels now.

  * ●●●●



Mick is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Lewis to turn the tables on them again, to pull the carpet from underneath their feet. He wonders how bad it’s gonna be when someone knocks on his door.

It’s Len and Mick is so _overflooded_ with rage at the sight of him that all he can do for a moment his eye see red is grip the door handle so hard it nearly cuts into his palm.

Len licks his lips, bloody and cut and asks, “Got some ice?” His voice is shot to hell, but he’s not crying, even though his eyes are shining like well-polished diamonds. He looks like he crawled out of hell- considering he probably just left his house, it’s close enough- and Mick can’t think o anything to say. He can’t speak.

Len won’t look him in the eyes, and he’s shaking. Mick doesn’t know what makes him do it, maybe how vulnerable Len looks, shivering on his doorstep, but he grabs him and pulls him into an embrace.

“What are you doing?” Len asks, startled and tense.

Mick swallows, tightening his hold because illogical part of him thinks Len would disappear in a puff of smoke if he lets go. “I’m giving you a hug,” he says.

It registers, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he had never hugged Len before, in all those years they’ve known each other. But at the moment, he’s only aware of how Len slumps into him, how his ribs expand when he takes in a shuddering breath, and how easy it is to just keep him there. Mick thinks he could stay like this for as long as it takes to make Len safe. He certainly knows he would.

“I’m serious about that ice,” Len says after a beat of silence.

Mick steps back because yeah, he’s probably making Len uncomfortable. He needs to keep himself in check.

“Right. Get inside, I think I have some frozen peas in the freezer.”

He lets Len wipe off the blood on his own, but pulls the splinter out of his hand and wraps it up himself. There’s nothing that needs stitching, just a whole lot of gauze and frozen vegetables on bruises that seem to be overlapping each other. Len curls up on the couch, head near Mick’s thigh and blinks dully as the painkillers start to do their job.

Mick hesitates, but then settles his hand on Len’s upper arm, the lightest of touches because Mick is not sure that he can give him the comfort he needs through words. Len can shrug it off whenever he wants, it’s given. He settles down more comfortably and falls asleep instead.


	21. X Marks The Spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda short again, but oh well.
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

There’s a note on the fridge when Mick walks into the kitchen that morning. It’s from Len, telling him there’s something he needs to take care of. It’s been a week since that last Lewis incident, and Len is still not talking about what happened. Mick is not exactly surprised, Len actually opening up about that would be uncharacteristic, strange, but he can’t help to feel worried. What if Lewis decides he’s not done with him?

He trusts Len to know when to run for his life, usually, though now he fears Len might freeze at the sight of him. He seems out of it, like he lost his touch with reality. Like he’s just cut off from everything.

Lisa shuffles around the apartment, watching TV, trailing after Mick and making him company while he works in the garage. She noticed Len’s behavior too. She might not have been there at the time, having a sleepover at one of her friends’ place ( _thank God_ ), but she’s smart and she can tell when something’s wrong with her brother.

“I’m worried about Lenny,” she tells him, serious in a way that she shouldn’t have to be at her age.

Mick sets the wrench on the floor and sighs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I know, Lise.” He responds sadly.

She plops into a chair Mick has next to his work desk. “Would you talk to him? Maybe you can cheer him up, so he’s not sad anymore.”

She’s looking at him with big, pleading eyes and he goes to scrub a hand over his face before he notices the motor oil and stops himself. His shoulders slump. To be fair, he has no idea if he can help this time. This is different than all those other times Len came in beaten and bloody. It’s like a part of him didn’t make it out. It’s like, and this will sound sappy as fuck, Mick knows, but- it’s like his heart never made it out of the house.

He finds himself nodding anyway. “I’ll try, Lisa.”

She nods back.

“Good,” she says solemnly, “if anyone can make Len happy again, it’s you.”

  * ●●●●



Len comes in later that day, expression bland. He pets Lisa’s hair while walking past the couch and then sits at the table, opposite Mick.

They sit in silence for a bit, Len tapping his index finger on the table top and Mick rolling the cup of coffee in his hands. Then Len splays his hands on the table and looks at him.

“Santinis offered me a job,” he says.

Mick frowns, “I thought we’re already working for them.”

Len shakes his head, “Lewis is, and we were working for Lewis.”

“Let me guess, Lewis is out of the picture then?”

Len nods.

Realization creeps up to Mick suddenly. “That’s why he was pissed.”

He says it like a statement, but Len nods again anyway.

“They offered me a job, but I didn’t take it yet.”

“Why not?”

Len shrugs, “They’re a spot short in their crew.”

Mick doesn’t understand what that means at first, but as soon as he does, something in his uncoils, just a little. Len still thinks Mick is important- important enough to tell the Family to “ _please hold_ ”.

“Oh,” he says and frowns once more, “You know you don’t have to do that. I can take care of myself.” There’s a lot of money in working directly with Santinis, and while Mick would prefer to have Len near, he can’t take the chance of a better future away from him.

Len glares at him. “You’re my partner. We’re a package deal and it’s time for others to realize that.”

Mick blinks. “Partners?”

“Well, duh. We’re a team, Mick.” Len responds breezily, shifting on his feet, like he didn’t just put basically every doubt Mick had to rest.

  * ●●●●



“I need you to take half of my cut,” Len says, throwing a thick envelope at him as soon as he enters the apartment.

Mick catches it against his chest and giving Len a puzzled look. “Uhh, okay? Why?”

“Because,” Len toes off his boots, “if Lewis gets too grabby, he’s not gonna get much. I just need you to stash it somewhere out of his reach.”

It makes sense, but-

“What if I set the apartment on fire?”

“Don’t set the apartment on fire, Mick.”

Nice to know Len will take that kind of a question in stride. Though, he had probably thought about the possibility before, seeing as there’s quite a stash of his money already hidden in Mick’s apartment; he just never brought as much as _half of his cut_ before.

Mick nods, “Okay.”

Len sighs, but not as a response to Mick. He slumps and drags his feet to the couch. He looks tired, worn. Mick remembers what he kind of promised Lisa.

He forces himself to sit a safe distance away from Len, in case this conversation goes sideways and Len starts feeling crowded. He clears his throat. “You’ve been off lately,” he states.

Len's eyes snap to him. “What?”

“Dunno, just. You’re different. Lisa is worried.” _So am I._

Len looks slightly guilty at that. He shifts on the couch, sitting cross-legged and facing Mick.

“It’s not you two. It’s- I have to do it.”

Mick frowns, “Have to do what?”

Len swallows, bites the inside of his cheek. It’s something Mick realizes he hasn’t seen Len do in a long time.  

“Be like this. I’m me, but I have to…” Len trails off, looking for appropriate words.

“Put on a mask?” Mick guesses.

Len nods, his lips twitching up just the tiniest bit. Mick wants to kiss him, so he curls his hands into fists in his lap instead.

“I thought I fucked up. You know, with, uh, the hug,” Mick admits before he can stop himself.

Len looks startled, but just slowly shakes his head, keeping eye contact with him the whole time.

“No, the hug was okay,” he says, ducking his head. Mick is not convinced.

It must show on his face because when Len looks up, his eyebrows scrunch up and he gets this determined gleam in his eyes that Mick loves so damn much.

“We’ll never speak of this again,” he says. Then he shuffles on the couch until his back is flush with Mick’s side. That’s a lot of physical contact, considering it’s Len, but Mick is not complaining. He feels Len settling in, relaxing, and cautiously slings his arm around him. It’s more comfortable (or that’s at least the excuse if Len demands to know what he’s doing). Len doesn’t ask, just leans into him and grabs the TV remote and presses the power button.

“I have to be like this,” he says quietly, like it’s a plan, just for the two of them, and nobody else can know about it, “because if people think I don’t have a heart, then they can’t break it.”

“And you have it?” Mick teases.

Even without looking, he knows Len’s smirking when he speaks. “Oh, don’t worry, I put it somewhere where it’s gonna be safe.”


	22. The View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lo and behold, I wrote a fluff chapter.
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

They don’t really acknowledge the touching, but the lack of literal and metaphorical barriers between them- now that Mick knows what’s up with Len- has actually made things better. There’s no long silences or tense atmosphere anymore, which just makes everything settle back into normality. And it helps with everyone’s moods too; they’ve been watching a movie one night, squished together on the couch, and Lisa had looked pleased as a punch. And happy Lisa makes for a happy Len, relaxed against Mick’s arm and grinning at the TV- and happy Len makes for a happy Mick, so, really, it’s an enchanted circle that Mick has no intentions of breaking.

All in all, things are pretty good.

Mick comes to his apartment one evening, lights on and Snart siblings doing- respectively- their own thing. Lisa is sitting on the floor in front of the couch, school notebooks strewed around her, and flipping through the channels, and Len is in the kitchen, scribbling on post-it notes and sticking them into a notebook randomly- it’s probably not random, but Mick will be damned if he ever figures out how Len’s brain works.

“Finally. You’re back,” Len says when Mick shoves the groceries bag into the fridge, closing his notebook briskly. He stands up, takes hold of Mick’s wrist and starts pulling him toward the door again.

“Wha- Len, what are you doing?” Mick asks him, throwing a look at Lisa- who is completely ignoring them.

“We’re going out, c’mon,” is all Len says besides a, “Bye, Lise!” when they’re already halfway out the door.

They trudge down to the garage, where Len grabs a huge duffle bag and hefts it into the backseat of the car Mick is, ah, _borrowing_ currently with a huff.

“Okay,” he says, “we can go now.”

“That’d be great- if I knew where we’re going,” Mick grumbles, hinting heavily that Len should tell him, like, now.

Len smirks, “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

Len grins at him over the roof of the car, “This is a good one. Trust me.”

Mick huffs and gets into the driver’s seat. Len shimmies into the passenger’s and directs Mick onto the road smugly.

Len navigates them through a winding path through the city streets, talking smoothly and confidently. Mick falls into a trance with his voice, like it’s a fire pulling him in, getting him lost in the sound and the feel of it.

He barely notices that they pass the city limit, but then it’s just a field here and there and a whole lot of trees. Len’s leading them towards the Keystone, he realizes. He doesn’t really understand. Len tried to get him to go visit the cemetery once, at his family’s death anniversary, but Mick absolutely refused and Len didn’t press. Mick doubts Len would try to cheat him into visiting them, and it’s not even close to the anniversary, so he doesn’t know what Len has in plan.

He casts a questioning look at him, but Len just keeps looking straight ahead, his fingers tapping almost soundlessly on the dashboard.

Mick resigns to just having to “wait and see” and keeps driving.

They don’t actually go to Keystone. Len tells him to take a right and Mick recognizes the path leading to the old warehouse on a hill that was abandoned before Mick was even born and has since taken over the role of town’s dump site. Mick remembers coming there when he was younger once. He found a whole pile of thrown away wooden crates and chucked them into a trash can and then set it on fire. He would have probably stayed there for hours if the rain hadn’t started pouring like crazy and put it out.

He came home soaking wet to a worried mother, an angry father and his siblings already sleeping.

He parks the car and turns to look at Len. Len is still not acknowledging his questioning frown. Instead, he unlocks his seatbelt and exits the car.

Mick follows his lead, rounding the car and looking out at the derelict building illuminated by the headlights and rusty metallic car frames and garbage all around it.

“So,” he starts, shoving his hands in his pockets, “what did I do?”

Len makes a vaguely questioning noise and Mick leans to the side and looks at him digging through the bag in the backseat over his shoulder. He shrugs even though Len can’t see him.

“I mean, I had to fuck something up because you clearly brought me here to kill me and dump my body in one of  those dumpsters.”

He hears the bag hitting the ground and turns to fully face Len. He’s already looking at Mick with his arms crossed.

“That’s ridiculous,” he states and holds up a finger, “first of all, there’s no way I’d be able to get you into a dumpster. Dead or alive.”

Mick smirks, “And second of all?”

Len shrugs, “Can’t I do something nice?”

That is, huh. A possibility, Mick supposes.

“Well, you can.”

“But?”

“You doing something nice is an equivalent of government lowering the taxes. Sketchy.”

“Take that back,” Len tells him with a scowl, but not actually upset.

Okay, maybe a bit upset.

Mick grins, “Hit a nerve?” He jokes.

Len scrunches up his nose, “You know, I’m reconsidering this Nice thing.” That was a capital N, Mick could hear it.

“I still don’t know what the Nice thing is,” Mick reminds him, looking at the bag curiously. Len nudges it with his foot and motions for Mick to grab it.

“C’mon, I’ll show you,” he says, pulling a flashlight out of his jacket and starting to walk towards the warehouse.

Mick lifts the bag- surprisingly heavy- and once again follows after Len. They go around the building, to the side of the hill that’s overlooking Keystone. All that can be seen of the town are numerous lights of street illumination shining in the dark. 

There’s a dent in the dirt that makes up the ground, surrounded by bricks. A fire pit. Mick whips around to look at Len- who is _again_ not looking at him.

“This is a fire pit,” he points out.

Len hums in agreement. He’s looking out at the town, and Mick is watching his profile, staring until Len starts squirming and finally looks at him. He shrugs at Mick.

“What? I said I can do nice things. Open the bag, I’m getting cold.”

Mick complies, his brain still processing the course this night has taken. He takes in a few different fuel and accelerant canisters and grumbles out how they need to find some wood. Luckily, that’s not a problem here.

Soon, they have a nice fire going on and settle down on a now empty duffle that’s thankfully big enough for both of them to sit on.

Mick watches as the fire flicks up into the air, embers floating around like fireflies.

It’s not like Mick didn’t have anything to light on fire lately, but, well, _this is a nice surprise_.

He feels Len shifting next to him, stretching with his cheeks flushed from the heat. He arches his back, neck bared, and Mick forgets to breathe for a second.

He clears his throat, “So.”

Len shrugs, intertwining his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he speaks, “I just remembered you told me about this place. I wanted to see the view,” he shrugs again, sweeping an arm in front of them to gesture at the view of the Keystone lit up like a candle in the darkness.

It feels like that’s not all, but Mick won’t force it because it’s most definitely going to have the exact opposite effect of what he wants. Len will clam up and they’ll end up sitting in awkward silence until the fire dies down.

“Hm, okay,” Mick says, “thanks.”

He knows there’s an amazing fire raging in front of him, but he can’t really bring himself to tear his eyes from Len. He drinks in how his skin glows in warm yellow tones, how the fire dances in his eyes, a lump of coal ablaze and trapped in an ice cube, unable to melt it. Or maybe not wanting to; Mick knows if it was up to him, he’d stay trapped in those eyes for an eternity.

“I told you you’d like this surprise,” Len tells him, self-satisfied and smug.  

Mick rolls his eyes and snorts.

“And now I take it back. I’ll throw you down this hill, you know?”

Len laughs because he knows it’s bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh*   
> Mick, sweetie, Len took you on a date.


	23. All Hands On Deck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, ah, something new?
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Nothing really changes for the next few months. Lisa keeps going to school and practice, Len still comes and goes beaten black and blue, maintains the precious balance of working for Santinis and somehow preventing his father from putting him six feet under. Mick worries, he’s enough of a man to admit that, and he works in the garage and he sets shit on fire and he follows Len wherever he goes. Nothing changes. Life is still a bitch.

Len plans. He’s got that notebook of his and a dozen of different papers tucked in between the pages, post-it notes sticking out. Mick doesn’t know what he’s planning; he doesn’t ask and Len doesn’t offer. If Mick ignores the reality, it almost looks like he’s just a kid doing his homework, a crease between his eyebrows, and chewing on the end of his pen absently.

He gets this strange thought, like- he wonders what it would be like if he never lit those matches and if Lewis wasn’t such a raging asshole. He thinks about meeting Len in a mall. Diner or a library maybe.

In the mall, his sisters would drag him around the stores and he’d whine about being bored and then he’d see Len, holding Lisa’s hand and smirking to himself because he just thought of another ridiculous pun. Their eyes would meet and Len would grin wider, giving a subtle wave before disappearing into a store with Lisa. And Mick would spend the rest of the day trying to find his face in the crowd.

In the diner, they’d sit next to each other and order the same thing. Len would steal his fries, but that would be okay- because Mick would dip them in Len’s milkshake and they’d crack jokes and puns about fast food and then they would do it all over again the next day. And the day after. And the day after. And all the days after that.

In the library, Mick would find him occupying a desk hidden deep in the maze of bookshelves. He would be leafing through an encyclopedia or reading an Art textbook. He’d let Mick sit next to him and shift closer to show him his favorite paintings. He’d trace the lines with slender fingers and press his knee against Mick’s and speak with that half- smile of his. Mick would kiss him, cut him off mid-sentence and Len would kiss back. When they stop making out, Len would finish his sentence and everything would be perfect.

  * ●●●●



They do two more jobs for the Santinis before Len decides to clue him in on his plan.

He’s drinking coffee at the kitchen table, brain still fuzzy with sleep, when Len plops down opposite him and slides his notebook toward him.

He looks up at him questioningly.

Len clears his throat, “I made a plan,” he says.

“Yeah, I know,” Mick responds, but doesn’t make a move to take the notebook. Despite the obvious, he doesn’t know if Len wants him to read it.

Len raises his eyebrows slightly, “Oh. Well, anyway,” he says, nudging the book further toward Mick, “read it and let me explain before you start yelling, okay?”

Mick feels his own eyebrows reaching for his hairline at that, looking at Len suspiciously, “Okay…”

He takes the notebook in his hands, opens the first page and starts reading. Len’s handwriting has always been awful, but Mick has thankfully learned how to read it; still, he thinks he must be reading it wrong. Or maybe it’s a wrong notebook, who knows how many of them Len has.

Post-it notes are full of little reminders, and the papers tucked in are documents that Mick doesn’t even know how Len got his hands on and blueprints for private warehouses and mansions. Len’s plan is a total mess, crazy to boot, and Mick has to leaf through the pages a few times to figure it all out.

He slowly closes the notebook and sets it on the table top.

Len leans back in his seat as if Mick is a bomb about to go off. _He’s not completely wrong_.

“What the fuck?” He asks as calmly as he can manage.

Len’s fingers twitch on the table top and he lifts his hands to stop Mick from starting his lecture. _And God, it’s a lecture_.

“Promised not to yell before I explain, remember?” Len says.

“What about hissing through my teeth?” Mick hisses. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That is insane!”

Len makes a dissatisfied noise, “Let me explain.”

Mick watches him, waiting.

“I know it seems a bit far-fetched,” he starts, lifting his hands again when Mick opens his mouth to voice his opinion on “ _a bit far-fetched_ ” part, “but- it makes sense.”

“Oh, it does? Say it out loud and then say it makes sense.” Mick whispers angrily.

Len makes a face at him and shifts in his seat uncomfortably. He sighs, “Darbinyans are not as powerful as Santinis are.”

“And what? Otherwise, you’d take _them_ on?”

Len shifts again and Mick narrows his eyes at him.

“They’re a mob family, Len. Both of them.”

“I know,” Len sighs.

“Do you? Because your plan is pretty much suicidal if it goes wrong. Fuck, do you even understand what you want to do?” Mick asks him.

Len nods seriously, “I’ve been mulling it over in my head for ages, Mick. I thought of every possible outcome and all the risks. I tried to figure out something else. Do you really think I’d even consider this if there was a better plan?”

Mick blows out a breath because Len is right. He wouldn’t even think about going through with this cuckoo plan if he had a better idea. Defeated, he slumps in the chair and groans, “But why? I mean what’s the point of that?”

Len clears his throat, blinking in a way that indicates he got lost in his thoughts again.

“We need the money. With money, we can move on to stage 2 of the plan.”

“Stage 2? The plan has two parts?” Mick asks him incredulously, hoping the other part is not as crazy as the first part.

Len nods again, “Yeah, but it doesn’t matter right now. We need the money to even make it possible.”

Mick scrubs a hand over his face and sighs, slumping deeper into his chair. He looks at his coffee cup, almost empty.

“And we’re gonna get money by robbing the Darbinyans.” He says and _yeah, it still sounds crazy when he says it out loud_.

“Yeah,” Len confirms. He breathes out deeply when he notices Mick’s disapproving expression.

“Santinis and Darbinyans can’t stand each other, Mick. So they’d be first on their suspect list. I’m just a nobody to them, I would be the last person they’d suspect on.”

“Yeah, and what happens once they get to the bottom of their suspect list? When they get to you?”

Len is quiet for a moment, then takes the notebook back and write down something in it. Once he’s done, he slides it back to Mick, pages still open.

“Then we just make sure there are no Darbinyans to get to the bottom of that list.”

Scrawled underneath the last note is, “ _Darbinyans_ ,” and crossed with a single, sure line.


	24. Seeing A Bigger Picture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is kinda moving with a snail's pace, but at least it's moving? :D
> 
> I hope it won't be the case, but updating might get less regular because real life is a pain in my ass- so heads up.
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Len doesn’t actually say anything more about the plan. He does that thing where he holes up in his own head for most of the time, forgetting to eat _or_ sleep because he’s so detached from everything that’s not plan related. It annoys Mick immensely- and not just because he has to make sure he shoves an apple or something down his throat and literally has to wrestle him into bed to get some rest- but it’s also one of the rare instances when Len’s guard is not on supermax levels of alert.

Which is probably the only reason why Mick is getting away with staring.

He’s absently wiping a plate, leaned against the kitchen counter, and watching as Len chews on the end of his pencil before tapping it on the table top twice and writing something in his notebook. He makes a grimace, his nose wrinkling as he frowns at the page and crosses out whatever he wrote down. He starts chewing on his pencil again.

Mick cut his hair to a more manageable length some time ago, but the short curls still make him look younger than he is. And his face too, really. Mick would have thought, with everything he’s been through, that it would wear him down, cut into him, but the only time he can actually see how life beat him is when Len looks him in the eyes. And even then it’s a rare thing; Mick hasn’t quite figured out the pattern yet, and can’t predict when Len will let him take a look past all that ice like that.

Len huffs and bites down on the pencil harder. Mick can hear his teeth scraping over it in the silence of the apartment.

Usually, he’s all for action and charging in head first because if there’s no plan, then it can’t be messed up. Len, of course, doesn’t agree. And Mick has to admit, if they’re going to take on a mob family, having a plan is a smart thing. Though Len might be obsessing over it a bit too much.

Len huffs again and furiously scratches out something else on the page he’s been scrawling on.

Mick sets the plate in a cupboard and tosses the dishrag on the counter.

“Alright,” he starts, “time for a break.”

Len’s head snaps up in surprise and then his eyes met Mick’s. He scowls, “No. I have to-“

“Get some fresh air and stop thinking before your head explodes,” Mick says with a roll of his eyes. “Also, we both need to eat and I don’t feel like cooking.”

Len makes a frustrated noise and promptly ignores him, so Mick plucks him out of the chair (Len’s spine literally pops, that’s how long he’s been sitting there) on his way to the door, easily maneuvering both of them in their jackets even with Len half-heartedly trying to wiggle out of his grip.

He settles in the passenger seat with a huff, glaring pissily at Mick the whole drive to the diner. His eyes drill holes in Mick’s temple, but he keeps his focus on the road.

“We’re wasting time, you know,” Len says suddenly.

Mick sighs. He’s been trying not to think about the plan. It’s making him itchy- in the worst of the ways. He’s ignoring the problem in hopes it will go away; he might have hated his shrink appointments in juvie, but it doesn’t mean he wasn’t listening to what she was yapping about. Well, he listened _sometimes_.

And Len is just… he’s trying to get ahead of the problem. He wants to know what each card looks like before he blows down the freaking tower. Or, more correctly, before he flicks away the most important card. Mick would just set the whole damn thing on fire.

“You hit a block. You weren’t going anywhere with it, just got yourself worked up.”

“I’d figure it out,” Len responds angrily.

“I know. And you will- after we eat,” Mick responds. It’s weird being the level-headed one between the two of them, but Len got too caught up in the planning.

Len says nothing, deciding to glare out the window for change.

  * ●●●●



“You’re freaking out less than I thought you would.”

Mick looks up from his burger. Len isn’t looking at him, eyes on the fry he dips in his milkshake and then pops in his mouth. He sucks the milkshake from his fingers, so it takes Mick a moment to process the question.

He clears his throat, “I’m- why would I freak out?”

“You hated the draft of the plan,” Len tells him like it explains his question.

Mick ignores the ‘draft’ part purely for the remains of his sanity.

“So?”

Len shrugs, looking at him with a slight frown, “ _So?_ I don’t have anything solid that won’t get one or both of us killed. And I’ve been at this for _forever_. I thought you’d be dying to tell me ‘I told you so’.”

Mick simply hums. _Yeah, that seems to be the situation_.

Len makes a distressed noise at his lack of reaction and leans over the table to hiss out, “Don’t you get it? _I don’t have the slightest idea how to do this._ ”

Mick wants to hug him. No; he wants to pull him across the table and in his lap, maybe swaddle him into a blanket and shove a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. This crazy affection comes in waves (never goes away, just seems to amplify), catches Mick out of the blue, unprepared and frustrated because how does he tell Len it doesn’t matter. He could blindfold him and send him off into a gunfight and Mick would do it because _Len always has a plan_. Even if he himself doesn’t know it at the time.

He snorts after what seems to him like too long of a pause and takes another bite out of his burger. Len looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“So?” He mumbles through a mouthful, “Like you said, you’re gonna figure it out.”

  * ●●●●



“What’s the deal with the plan, anyway?” Mick asks once they’re back on the road and then makes a face at himself, “Erm, I mean, what’s the deal with your obsessive planning of the plan?”

Len scrunches up his face at him as well and says, “I’m not obsessive,” but doesn’t try to protest more upon seeing Mick’s ‘ _oh please_ ’ expression.

He slips his feet off the dashboard and drums his fingers on his thighs.

“It’s…it can’t go wrong. I, we need that money and the plan has to go perfectly.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” Mick points out. “I just don’t get why can’t we keep setting aside out cuts from the jobs. Or, hell, why don’t we run our own jobs? You’ve got the brains, I’ve got the muscles.”

“Mick…” Len sighs. “We will run our own jobs. Real ones. Just not yet.”

“Because?” Mick prompts.

“Because you and I both know that anything worth stealing in this damn city is either owned by Families or someone already has their sights set on it. And we can’t take that kind of heat just yet.”

Mick whips his head to look at him sharply, “Oh, but taking on the mob is the kind of heat we can take?”

Len frowns, “I prefer to know who to expect to ring my doorbell while holding a gun.”

Mick lets out a long-suffering, frustrated noise, but switches the topic because this could go on forever. “Forget it. Just, okay. What the hell do you need that much money for, then? Besides the mysterious stage 2 of the plan.”

“Well, you said it yourself, we will run our own jobs one day. And we’ll need a crew to pull off some of them, right?”

Mick grunts in agreement.

“We’ll be the ‘new meat’, we’ll have to work out a way to the top, to the professional crews. And I don’t want us to get stuck at the bottom with the scum that will try to stab us in the back every step of the way. We can’t steal anything if we have to make sure our hands are always free to defend ourselves. Unless…“

Mick blinks when the realization dawns on him, “Unless we just start out at the top.”

Len smirks at him, “Think of the money as our starting capital. Or insurance, if you will.”

Mick huffs out an impressed chuckle, “Okay, shit.”

There are not a lot of ‘professional’ thieves or crews in Central. Mainly because nobody starts out rich and successful, and people are greedy dickbags who will steal your kidneys and leave you to bleed out in an alley without blinking. So, Len’s plan makes sense. Mick is still confused as hell, and he still doesn’t want to think about it too much, but. It makes sense.

“Why are we doing this alone?” Not that anyone in their right mind would help them, but still. Money makes people do crazy things.

“Because you’re the only person that I trust,” Len tells him simply. Like telling a guy you trust him enough to take on a mob family so you can invest in your future together is something that happens every day.

Mick feels that urge to pull him in his arms again, but instead smirks back at him and says jokingly, “Aw, things like that make me feel special.”

Len, because the sight of emotions makes him queasy, squirms in his seat and turns his face away with a grumpy, “Shut up.”

Mick laughs at the color rising on his cheeks, ignoring the lack of breath in his lungs at the sight.


End file.
